Where Madness Gives A Bit
by tajuki
Summary: "It was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us..." Dickens: 'A Tale of Two Cities' The six are now five and the worst of it is but yet to come. Summary on Bio.
1. What You've Become

Disclaimer: I own the plot and a few characters. Rowling and various other companies own the Harry Potter characters and settings. No infringement was intended in the creation of this story. 

Author's Note: This is the third story in a series of three. If you haven't already read my previous works, 'It May Be Rainin' and 'The Road To Nowhere' I suggest you invest the time. They're fun, I promise. Or, If you're into that sort of thing, you can take it from here and completely confuse yourself. I leave that choice to you my readers. 

Chapter One

What You've Become

_"Run to your dreamin'_

_When you're alone_

_Not what you should be _

_Or what you've become_

_Just get heavy on with _

_Diggin__' your ditch_

_Diggin__' a ditch where madness gives a bit_

_Diggin__' a ditch where silence lives_

_Where all these disappointments _

_That grow angry out of me will die…"_

_Dave Matthews Band: 'Digging A Ditch'_

                "Are you going to be all right?" Ron asked, placing a tentative hand on Ginny's shoulder. 

                Ginny swallowed hard and nodded. 

                It would be a hard year for her. 

                But it would be nothing, she reasoned, compared to her past month, hunted by Voldemort only to betray an innocent and sweet little girl, helpless against his deranged whims. Rehabilitation had been a real hell too. 

                She was struggling and apparently it showed. Her brother, and Harry even, had counseled her to keep her distance from Draco. She knew that they harbored little of their once fervent hatred for each other. The recent events had put an end to their juvenile quarrels. But it was optimistic of her to think that they would put aside all differences. 

                Ron would still hate him for blaming the whole situation this summer and the death of his sister on her. She knew Ron was only doing what any protective older brother would do. He didn't want her hurt. But it was too late for that. She was hurt and it wouldn't stop anytime soon, whether Draco were around to exact the punishment or if she just dealt it out to herself. She was responsible for all of this. She had all of the information right in front of her. She'd seen it all and hadn't put it together fast enough. And it cost Lucy her life, a life Ginny wouldn't have given up of her own free will. 

                She wanted Draco to know that she hadn't voluntarily given his sister over to the Dark Lord. He'd poisoned her. But it was an easy out. She'd had a hand in the death whether voluntary or otherwise. That was how Draco would see it, and it was quite fair, Ginny reasoned. 

                She would have to accept the fact that she'd lost him. She just hadn't reached that point yet. 

                Stepping onto the platform and beholding that gleaming scarlet engine, she found herself searching for that familiar blond with the infuriatingly elitist sneer on his face. 

                Her heart leapt painfully as she saw him. 

***

Imogen stepped onto the platform of nine and three quarters and shook her head. Same old shit, she thought hopelessly to herself.  She just didn't feel like humoring the staff by taking their remedial classes. But that was part of the deal. She had to carry out the normal activities of a fourth year student if she wanted to remain at Hogwarts. And she did want to remain at Hogwarts. She needed to be here, if only to make sure the people she cared about were all right, safe. She buried all of her loathing and reservations about the upcoming year with a sigh and heaved her bags on board. 

She didn't have anyone to say goodbye to at the station. 

Just as well. She got first choice of compartments that way. She wanted nothing more than to be by herself and think.

Imogen smashed through the first compartment door she came to. 

Occupied. A boy with a toad had already gotten there. 

She shook her head as he offered to share and moved on.

The next one down was empty and so she claimed it and immediately shut the door. 

Rummaging through her trunk, she quickly produced the documents that had consumed most of her final days of summer. 

She felt only a little twinge of guilt at having taken them right from under Draco's nose, but only a little. She knew his habits and whenever he was out for the count she knew he wouldn't wake up. 

They'd spent most of that evening when she came to visit in silence. She stared anxiously at him and he stared wearily at the floor. Then he'd found the alcohol. Gin, Imogen thought it might be. She watched in complete apprehension as he consumed the entire bottle, praying that this would not become a habit with him. 

He'd forgotten that she was there, she noted with pity, when he'd curled up on the sofa clutching the empty bottle. 

That had solidified the decision for her. 

No matter how many other things she'd had on her plate this time, she was coming back to Hogwarts. She didn't think she could go through the painful process of losing another person she loved. And he seemed to be nearing the edge of self destruction. So here she was, on the train back to Hogwarts, only because Draco was in trouble. 

After he'd passed out she padded silently to the lower chambers of the house, knowing exactly where it was she was headed even though there were only a few torches lighting the way. 

Into her laboratory, Imogen stepped, the ridiculous feeling that she was trampling over a dead girl's memory, her place, her things. This was Lucy's laboratory. 

Brushing the idea from her mind with a small laugh, she quickly proceeded to collect the notes that had been left there. Everything was open, left the way it had been just before she'd disappeared. 

Into a bag Lucy's precious notes went. 

She made a cursory scan of the room. She'd left no other important documents behind. The last Dark Arts book that had given birth to all of Lucy's brilliant plans was nestled behind a loose stone at the base of the wall. She pried it loose and shoved the book into the bag as well and left the underground lab and its ghosts.

She thought about leaving directly but felt hot tears forming in her eyes. She couldn't do it. To just walk out on him like that was painful.

She crept into the sitting room where she found him still curled up on the sofa, asleep and frowning. He'd dropped the bottle. She could see its neck as it half rolled out of sight under the piece of furniture. 

Holding her cropped hair back out of her face she bent and kissed his forehead. 

"I'm sorry I had to leave you, Draco," she sobbed quietly and then left before she'd had the chance to wake him up.  

Shaking the thoughts from her head, she set her jaw and went to work. She had to figure out how to modify this potion. 

***

                Draco winced painfully at the harsh morning sun and wondered with great regret what the hell he was doing here. He'd pondered many ways out. 

                First he'd thought of the obvious: suicide. But he was somewhat of a pragmatist and ruled that out, saying that if he wasn't successful in his first attempt what would make the second any more special. He was never one for repeating himself. 

                His mind automatically went to the next logical option, which was of course, get the hell out. He could easily leave. Leave school, home. Leave it all. Go someplace warm. Fiji. But Fiji wasn't enough to make him forget what he'd left behind. And so he stayed. 

                Now that he was here and forced to board the train that would mercilessly whisk him off to a hell of his own fashioning, he couldn't remember these very logical reasons for staying. 

                The train's whistle sounded loudly, nearly forcing him to his knees with the unexpected pain of it all. Jesus! He felt like he was having a bloody aneurysm. 

                His head pounded with the dim realization that he'd had a little more to drink than was necessary for a peaceful night's sleep. He cursed and massaged his temples. 

                He couldn't take this shit, he thought, shaking his fuzzy head. 

                He began to turn and proceed back out of the station. 

                He didn't feel like going to school. He didn't fancy seeing her again. 

                That would be worse than this horrid hangover, he feared. 

                Her voice stayed him though. 

                "Draco?" Ginny's voice sounded unsure over the din of the bustling station. 

                He turned slowly. He didn't want to be having this conversation. _The conversation. Not with her. Not with his head in such disarray. _

                "Not now, Ginny," he said as he brushed past her and on to the train, looking for a compartment to pour himself into and pass out again. He noticed with slight alarm how bad she looked and even more regretful at the hurt look on her face as he was avoiding her. 

                She would have to get used to it, he reasoned. He would be doing a lot of avoiding this year. And if she were smart, she'd leave it at that. 

***

                Ginny had said she was going back out to the platform to say goodbye to her mother once more before they were off. Hermione noted, with anything but surprise, that the small redheaded girl wasn't headed back to the train after she'd embraced her mother. She was off in the direction of Draco Malfoy who stood at the platform entrance, seeming unsure about something. 

                Hermione watched on as her friend neared and spoke. Malfoy pushed past her, leaving her there, looking after him. Her face contorted and crumpled as she dissolved into tears and regret. Hermione shook her head mournfully. If she didn't feel awful for him having just lost his sister, she would have hunted him down and tried out some new hexes on him for making her cry. 

                She got up from her seat and headed for the door, just as Ron and a pale-looking Harry had entered. Harry was just as solemn and regretful as Ginny most days. She understood that, though. They had all been through the wars, but Harry was weighed down with the guilt of losing Lucy. 

                She smiled at him and he looked back with immovable features and blinked. 

                "Where are you going?" Ron asked, shoving Crookshanks to one side to clear some room for himself. 

                "Nowhere," she answered quickly and then added more convincingly, "I'll be back. It won't take long." She quickly exited the compartment as to head off any more questions on the subject. 

                She pulled a sliver chain from the pocket of her school robes she'd already changed into. Dangling at the end of that delicate chain hung a fleur-de-lis, beautifully worked in silver and sapphires.  

                It was Lucy's necklace and it belonged in the care of her brother. Hermione didn't feel right about keeping it a second longer.

                She quickly pushed through scores of first years. Peeked through the open doors of each compartment and flung open those doors that were closed, eliciting some very hassled comments. She ignored all of it. 

                At the back of the train, she found him. 

                She opened the door of the next to the last compartment and found a familiar but not recognizable lower year Slytherin girl with cropped black hair and strikingly blue eyes staring at her curiously, distracted from some papers or notes she'd been looking over. 

                On the other side of the compartment lay a figure dressed in gray, face hidden under a black school cloak. She'd had the feeling it might be Draco only by noting his shoes—Gucci. 

                "Is that Draco Malfoy?" she asked the girl who nodded interestedly and curiously. 

                Not wanting to wake him and then have the uncomfortable task of explaining how this necklace had come to be in her possession, she merely bent and twisted the silver chain loosely around one of his wrists that hung off of the seats he was asleep on. He would find it when he woke up, she told herself. 

                Imogen eyed all of this from her seat and smiled behind her notes. 

                Hermione thanked her and she nodded. 

                Imogen watched as she left and then stared briefly at the charm dangling from Draco's wrist before returning to her notes. 

***

                Ginny watched the retreating from of Draco as he quickly boarded the train. He'd winced at the sound of her voice and then scowled. He hated her. 

                Ginny was in no doubt of that. 

                She fought with herself for a few very brief moments before giving in to the urge of self pity and, with several first years looking on and pointing, her calm composure melted into big crocodile tears. She admonished herself for her weak facade. Really what could she expect from Draco? He didn't owe her anything. He never said that he loved her—and it was clear now that he didn't. 

                She wiped the tears from her face and with angry resolution, she promised never to open herself up to this kind of pain again. 

                With a cleansing, deep breath she stepped determinedly onto the train and into her compartment, followed closely by Hermione who greeted her with a sympathetic smile. Ginny brushed it off and picked up Crookshanks, cuddling him like a favorite childhood toy, she curled up in one of the compartment seats and went to sleep, caring not how many inquiring eyes were on her. It wasn't Ron nor Hermione's business if she were talking to Draco, or if she was upset. She'd have to get used to handling things on her own someday, and now was as good a day as any to start. 

***

                Harry watched in disappointment as Argus Filch carried out the traditional chores of Hagrid's, floating the first years across the lake. He looked as if he despised his added duties. 

                Other than that very major change the school looked just about normal, Harry thought to himself as he made a cursory scan of the Great Hall. Then, he noticed that the Headmaster's chair was vacant. That was a violent change. Dumbledore was still in the hospital, Harry learned, the last time Sirius had updated him. 

                Professor McGonagall broke into his thoughts as she came up behind him and Hermione and announced that she wished to see the both of them directly after dinner. Harry looked to Hermione who suggested with a shrug of her shoulders that she hadn't the slightest idea why he was being called to her office. In all probability, Hermione would be asked to serve as Head Girl. They might have already sent her a letter, but with all that had happened in the past week and a half, she might not have accepted yet. Harry then had the strange idea that she might not accept the position. She'd nearly given up Prefect because of Parvati Patil's death. Maybe she was meaning to decline. 

                Harry shrugged as well and sat, watching the Deputy Headmistress as she performed double duty in sorting and opening remarks. He was almost glad he would have the chance to talk to her after the feast. He wasn't sure if there would be another convenient time to say what he had to say. 

                As the first years had been sorted and dinner completed, the students were instructed to go immediately up to their dorms. McGonagall had a way of instructing the entire hall of roughly five hundred students or so with her stern voice. Her command brought with it the underlying assumption that anyone caught disobeying would wish fervently they hadn't been. 

                Harry continued up the stairs with Ron as Hermione branched off from them in the direction of the Transfiguration teacher's office. Harry had instructed her to tell McGonagall that he would be along shortly. He'd had something of Professor Dumbledore's that he wanted to return immediately. 

                Ron inquired after Harry as to what he thought McGonagal would want him for and Harry could only shrug. He wasn't in the least bit curious either. He wanted only to return the sword of Gryffindor, which he stole, to its rightful owner and to say what he had to say. Whatever she had to tell him wasn't of any concern. She could have given him a weeks worth of detentions for all he cared at the moment. He would have shrugged and asked where to report. It wouldn't have bothered him one way or another. 

                All he wanted from this term was to blend silently into the background and be miserable by himself. 

                So far, he guessed, that wouldn't be too easy. As he'd entered the common room of Gryffindor Tower, he realized with extreme annoyance and ungratefulness that nearly everyone was staring at him and whispering. 

                They'd all read the _Daily Prophet no doubt and were all in a fanatic sort of awe. If they knew the real story behind his reasons for killing Voldemort, he'd bet they wouldn't be so keen on bestowing so much attention and silent praise on him. He felt like a hack, a sham. _

                Lucy deserved all of the gratitude. She was the one who'd given her life after all. She hadn't even been mentioned in the article, unless you count the sentence that ended the faux heroics anticlimactically with, "In association with the events that ended Voldemort's life and reign of terror on the wizarding community, three others were reported to have perished in the fire that consumed the historical site at Loch Muriadoch. Among them Lucius Malfoy, prominent figure in the Ministry scene and ex-Governor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

                And now, as it turns out, Harry was the one receiving the accolades for an honor that was most certainly not his. 

                It's true that he was the one that delivered the lethal blow to Tom Riddle, but it was only in the defense of Draco Malfoy who was unaware of his own danger. Given the chance to do it over, Harry wasn't sure he would have had the courage to exact the necessary wound that ended Voldemort. His very lack of certainty on that point was the mark of how unworthy he was of the attention. 

                He was no hero. 

                He stopped and stared at first and then pushed his way through them, hurrying up to his dorm room. McGonagall would be wanting to see him and he had to fetch the sword. 

***

                "You wanted to see me, Professor?" Draco drawled in a less than enthusiastic tone, shutting the door to his Head of House's office. 

                Professor Snape looked up only momentarily in response and then back to the papers in front of him. "Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy," was his monotone reply. 

                Draco did as he was told, staring brazenly for a minute or two at the man who seemed to be drawing things out unnecessarily. He knew what this was about. He'd had his answer. Now all he needed was for Professor Snape to voice the question. 

                "Are you aware of the fact that you've been considered for the position of Head Boy?" he asked, still averting his eyes to the sheet in front of him. "Because, it would appear that since you've given no reply, as you ought, the announcement as to your consideration for the position has been misdirected. I know it is not because you simply planned to ignore it." Professor Snape looked up, his face a mask of unconcern and professional detachment. 

                "I think I might have thrown it in the fire. I was pretty wasted at the time," Draco admitted without grandeur or humility. 

                The Head of Slytherin House merely blinked. "I am not concerned with your extra-curricular activities, Mr. Malfoy. What I am concerned with is the entire lack of responsibility you've taken on as your pet project this year. You have every right to be angry over the way things turned out for you and your family, but this carelessness and flagrant disrespect for rules and authority will not be tolerated. Do I make myself clear?" 

                Draco stared at him, his features immovable. 

                 "I am not without sympathy for you and your circumstances, but don't try my patience with your self-destructive childishness. You are capable of better, Mr. Malfoy." He ended his speech as Draco stood. 

                "Are you done?" Draco said monotonously. 

                "You will sit down, Mr. Malfoy and not interrupt me," the Professor snapped, retaining his patience with difficulty. 

                Draco sat, holding the teacher's withering gaze expertly. 

                "Will you accept the position offered you?" Professor Snape continued after a measured silence. 

                "No," Draco answered simply and without hesitation. 

                The professor returned his attention to the papers he'd been attending to before their conversation. "Then you are free to go," he said, dismissing Draco who was only too happy to comply. 

                He fought the urge to slam the door on his way out. 

                As he looked up from his shoes, ready to utter a very colorful and informative string of swearing, he met the questioning face of Imogen. 

                Damn, he thought, the girl was everywhere. 

                "What was that all about?" she asked, noting the strained and set look on his face as he worked his jaw, methodically grinding his teeth. "Don't do that," she added and then admonished herself. She was supposed to maintain a professional aloofness to the people she was here to watch over. That was the agreement. They weren't to be put in a position to suspect her. 

                "He offered me the Head Boy position," he answered dryly. 

                "Oh, that's wonderful!" she added with an excited clap of her hands. "Congratulations, Draco!"

                "Don't," he warned with a shake of his head. "I didn't accept."

                "Oh," she said, crestfallen. She'd done this. He'd wanted this for a long time, to become Head Boy. Most would think it was because of some sort of power trip, being better than anyone else and having the badge to prove it, but she knew what it was really about. He wanted to earn it—and he had. His father hadn't paid for it, the way Draco was used to achieving a lot of things. And now he'd given it up because she'd messed his life up. 

                He sidestepped her and continued down the hall. She looked after him briefly and vowed that one day she would explain everything and somehow endeavor to earn his forgiveness. She just wasn't able to right now. 

***

                Hermione had come from Professor McGonagall's office just as Harry had reached it. 

                "And?" he asked expectantly. 

                "And what, Harry?" she asked, eyeing the sword in Harry's hands, "giving it back, are you?"

                "Of course," he answered immediately, "you didn't think I would keep them, did you?"

                "Well, not to take the blame all on yourself. Let me go in and explain. It was all my idea, after all—," she began vehemently. 

                Harry shook his head decisively. "No, if you hadn't seen it all when you did—," he didn't continue. They had both given a lot of thought to how it would have been if they'd done many things differently, including if they'd just ignored it all. The thought was a terrifying one. "No," he continued, "I'll do it on my own, thanks."

                She shook her head and left him at McGonagall's door. 

                He'd considered for a moment calling after her, ask her if she'd taken the Head Girl position, but decided that he'd put this meeting off for long enough. He could find out later what Hermione had told McGonagall. 

                "Please sit down, Mr. Potter," the Deputy Headmistress bid Harry as he entered. She did an odd sort of double-take as she noted the sword he was carrying as he sat. He leaned forward and placed it on her desk. 

                "I wanted to return it to the Headmaster," Harry answered her unasked question immediately. "I only took it because I needed to help Ginny and—," the stern teacher only held up one hand to silence him in that way characteristic mainly to Dumbledore. 

                "Mr. Potter, I will not pretend that it isn't a serious crime, breaking and entering the school and theft on top of that." 

                Harry swallowed hard and nodded. 

                "But, may I be frank with you for a moment?" She looked over the rim of her rectangular glasses, stern eyes set appraisingly on her student who nodded, "I have always maintained my professional distance where you are concerned. It is a great duty, looking after you for these many years, protecting you to some degree from the threat that you always seemed to attract. The staff here, and a few others that are no longer with us, have invested countless hours where you were concerned." She paused a moment to give Harry one of her all too rare smiles. 

                Harry only blinked in return, so caught off guard as he was. 

                "And I have always endeavored to treat you as I would treat any other student in my care. But I, along with Professor Dumbledore, from the moment we placed you in the care of your relatives nearly sixteen years ago now, have watched you. I would just like to say, Mr. Potter that I am pleased with the person you've grown in to." She sniffed slightly with nostalgia and continued, while Harry sat quietly. 

                "Against all of the odds, all of the excuses you've had, legitimate reasons for taking the less difficult path, you chose to rise above it. I commend you on that strength of character and bravery that exemplifies your house, in the dealings of last month." She stopped a moment and looked at the sword. Her thoughts were apparently with the Headmaster and his slow recovery. 

                "I know that you might doubt that any of your deeds could be deemed heroic that night. I know about the lives lost, the sacrifices made."

                Harry shook his head. He couldn't let her continue to heap the undeserving praise on him. "You've got it wrong, Professor. I lived. I got out. I lost nothing. It was everyone else, Lucy who lost her life, Draco who lost his family, Ginny who had to fight for nearly a week after it all just to live. They are brave. And I got the credit."

                "No doubt they all are very brave, Mr. Potter. Miss Weasley has shown herself willing to give many sacrifices for her convictions and her duties. That is a tremendous form of bravery, yes. And Mr. Malfoy is brave as well. It takes great resolve and strength for him to stand up to his father the way he did. To put his life on the line for an enemy, or several as you would have it, shows that he has no lack of morals and goodness. I see a whole lot of his mother in him. As for Lucilla, I did not know her, I'm afraid to say. But as I have heard it, she was a gentle person, an innocent person who deserved none of this, yet she lead you to that place where you were able to free the others," she paused again to give Harry the opportunity to dispute or correct her. 

                His throat had constricted and his heart grew heavy, but he said nothing. 

                "And she died for her part. I know that she would not blame any of you for that because I know that any child of Dale Bertrand's would have been proud of her part, no matter what the ends may have been."

                She gave him a penetrating stare. "And you. Don't discount your part. You've sacrificed just as much—your life, even. Your family was taken from you just as well. And your deeds, honoring them, saving your friends is not so entirely unworthy of praise. Harry," she said leaning over her desk, as if endeavoring to catch his attention. 

                He was listening, but he found that he could no longer look her in the eye. He was unhappy and, yes, it felt like he could never be so again. The threat of the Dark Lord had been vanquished, but that made no difference to him. His world was changed forever, jaded somehow, in a way that was hard for him to express clearly. 

                "You deserve to be happy as well," she finished earnestly. 

                He wished very much that he could believe her. It just sounded too far off. A distant shore that couldn't be reached, deep waters and threatening waves barred his path. It was hopeless. 

                "Yes, Professor," he conceded, his heart sinking with the helpless lie. 

                He got up to leave. 

                As he reached the door, the Deputy Headmistress' voice stayed him. 

                "There is one more thing, Mr. Potter."

                He turned wearily and looked at her. He'd been dreading this. 

                "I was wondering if you would like the position of Gryffindor's Team Captain," she asked hopefully. 

                He was wondering if he had the resolve it took to say no, but finally shook his head. It wouldn't be fair for the rest of the team if he were to lead them. The game didn't much matter to him anymore. In fact, it would be fair if he were to quit the team altogether. He knew that there were probably others in his house that would want the position, maybe even some that could perform the duties better. 

                "No, I don't want it. In fact, I mean to quit the team," he admitted under McGonagall's astonished gaze. 

                He said nothing more and walked out.  


	2. Sweet Denial

Disclaimer: My stuff is mine and Rowling's stuff is hers. 

Author's Note: Thank you to my reviewers. I really hope that you enjoy this third part in my series as much as you did the second half. 

Chapter Two

Sweet Denial

_"So we laugh, and we smile_

_And we play our games of sweet denial_

_But don't tell me we're forgiven_

_If we hold, all our breath_

_If we kneel right down and just repent_

_You can't tell me we're forgiven…"_

_The Calling: 'We're Forgiven'_

She nearly did a double-take when she'd looked up and met her new reflection in the mirror. This time her eyes were an eerie sage-green color and her hair a wavy auburn, freckles dotted her cheeks and nose. One hundred and eighty degrees difference for her natural appearance, she thought and gave a small grin. She loved being underestimated. It gave her that needed buffer to completely fool anyone. And it was easy to fool someone who thought she was capable of nothing more than sweetness and innocence. Oh, she was much, much more. 

She shook her head as it filled with all of the possible ways this operation could go wrong. She'd never done this sort of undercover work before. She was being placed almost at the very top—the Minister's aide. Butterflies filled her stomach as she imagined what might happen to her if she was found out. She ignored the sick feeling and brushed her teeth. She ought to be on time for her first day on the job. 

A knock on the door and Arabella Figg's voice calling for her to finish up, prompted her along. 

Brushing her hair aside, then determining to tie it back altogether, she drilled herself on the basic facts about her new identity. 

"I'm Ruthie James from Oxford. I am twenty-two years old and have no family and little political affiliation. I am intelligent but not nosy. ( This last bit she would have to remind herself of often. She was always driven to odd means to gain all sorts of information. Nosy didn't even come close to her nature. It was far more than a hobby to know all she could about everyone she came in contact with. She spent many hours digging around in strangers' pasts, which actually made her quite the perfect spy). 

Arabella's voice came again. 

Ruthie shook her head. Annoying and bossy. She hadn't quite come to a decision about what she thought of Arabella. She sure had Ruthie stigmatized. 

Her family's connection with the recently defeated Dark Lord was somewhat notorious. Her name and her father's involvement with Voldemort had given Arabella the means of enslaving her for all sorts of dirty work. Enslave might be too harsh of a word, Imogen—or Ruthie—reasoned. Arabella had actually been quite charitable. She could have sent her to Azkaban and been done with the whole thing. She was still guilty of murder after all. But, Arabella had taken her in instead, despite her glaring dislike for her father and his dark affiliations. 

Never having had long hair before, she reminded herself not to mess with it or in any way give herself away. This would be one of the most important and dangerous things she'd ever done of her own volition. 

She heaved a nervous sigh and headed out the door. She needed to be at the Ministry in five. 

***

Sirius shuddered as he came to the dominating gray fortress that had been his hell for twelve years. He gripped the file in his hands tightly. This was going to be one of the hardest things he'd ever done. He could feel it hanging ominously in the air. 

Well, he reasoned as he was ushered silently into the prison governor's office, it was without its most terrifying attribute: Dementors. They were still a large problem for the wizarding community, but not for Azkaban in particular. In their place were specially trained guards, not soul sucking dark creatures. Azkaban was now the hell that one made for himself. 

The memories of the horrible creatures were enough to make Sirius shiver. He had no desire to see them again. 

"Here to see inmate nine-forty-three?" the governor said without looking up from his papers. 

Sirius managed a weak, "yes," before the governor shoved a clipboard across his desk and ordered him to sign it. Some ground rules where rattled off unceremoniously that Sirius was required to comply with and then he was ushered through another set of doors and onto a familiar cell block.

"Thirty minutes," the guard that had shown him in grunted, leaving him alone, standing in front of an iron barred cage. Peter was there, staring out of a small window with dead eyes and a self-loathing frown.   

With his hands hanging limply at his side, Peter walked to the bars and stood there expressionless. He wasn't going to initiate conversation, but he was not averse to hearing what Sirius wanted to say. 

"Your hearing is set for the twentieth of November," Sirius began, shuffling through his papers, unsure of how to proceed. He'd been working on Peter's case, fought for a temporary stay of execution, earning himself a lot of enemies with that one. He'd done all of this—no problem. It was his job, or his former job. But he still couldn't bring himself to look his old friend in the eye. He felt that if he had, he would lose his professional detachment—want to tell Peter that he would do everything in his power to help him. He wasn't sure if he wanted that. This was still the same Peter that sold out his family, James and Lily and killed his last true friend and the best man he'd ever known, Remus. But it was hard to distinguish between the Peter that had done all of those things and the Peter that had taken the blame that should have been Sirius' when he made Professor Benwick's hat sing "Yellow Submarine" on Halloween first year. 

Peter nodded and Sirius didn't notice the shadows on his face. They stood there in awkward silence for some time before Peter finally spoke. 

But it wasn't like any normal person speaking in a normal conversation. He had that sort of quality to his voice that Professor Trelawny often used when in a fake trance. 

"She saved me and I let her die," he kept his eyes on the ground but they looked as if they were staring past it, if that was possible. 

"Who, Peter? Who are you talking about?" Sirius asked, looking around, convinced that Peter must be talking to someone. Or else he was going mad. 

Peter looked up. A tear ran silently down his cheek. Sirius noted it with mounting unease. It wouldn't help Peter's case to become completely unstable months before his trial. 

"She said she could handle it herself, but I knew they would kill her and I didn't help her. I left her there. When I came back for her it was too late," he turned away from Sirius and sat in the corner of his cell. 

Sirius had an idea now of who he was going on about. Lucilla Malfoy. Arabella had told him of how she'd found Peter wandering around the loch carrying the dead girl with him and sobbing. Maybe he slowly was creeping into insanity. How much lies, betrayal and destruction could one human conscience take, after all? It did, however, sound just like Dale to make her last act on this earth one that could redeem the irredeemable—and Peter was just that. Sirius had thought he'd had no hope. In reality, he just hadn't met his saving grace yet, until that night. And then she'd died. 

Sirius stood there silently as the minutes ticked slowly down from thirty and Peter sat rocking slowly in his corner. 

Seconds before the guard had come in to announce that time was up Peter admitted in a small voice infused with regret and humility, "I know you don't forgive me, and you shouldn't, Sirius. But I am sorry for the choices I've made. Not because of where they got me, but because they've hurt the people I loved."

Sirius opened his mouth to assure Peter that his apologies were useless, but the guard had entered, ending their meeting. Sirius shook his head and left the cell block before he had the time to change his mind. He didn't even know why he felt so compelled to help him. His heart hardened at the thought of all that Peter had taken from him. 

***

Ruthie had been in the Ministry on preliminary interviews and things, but it was still intimidating. Figg had left her with the understanding that she would be on her own for the most part. She was to work a regular day and at the stroke of five, Ruthie was expected to check in, report her findings for the day. She was unsure of how long this was supposed to take. If she were lucky (which Imogen usually wasn't) she would have enough incriminating evidence to put the Minister in Azkaban and she could go back to Hogwarts without distraction, maybe she would even be allowed to give up the charade she'd been living for three years now. It killed her that she couldn't be fully honest with her friends there. She had so few that it made them that much more important to her. 

Arabella Figg's co-workers didn't seem as bad as all that, which was a comfort to her. Figg could sometimes get a bit carried away with the job and getting someone in the Ministry that she could be a little bit blind to the fact that Imogen had never done this before. An experienced agent might fair quite decently when thrown into a situation as she had been, but she was far from experienced. The only thing that recommended her for this sort of work was her ability at acting and the fact that she had Lucy's Polyjuice altercations that she'd stolen from her laboratory. 

The receptionist, Corbin, seemed very helpful and was always eager to set her mind at ease about Figg. And there was Sirius Black, the one reason she'd agreed to this crazy scheme in the first place. 

Although Arabella was the only one with the full knowledge of who Imogen was, her background and relations and her capabilities as an informant, Sirius knew what sort of task she was up against and did his best to lessen the strain of the very big assignment Arabella had dropped on her. He'd even given her the names of two insiders in the Ministry that she could go to if she had any problems. She hoped that it was not her age that had given her away as someone who couldn't handle the job. She was eager for this job, the one assignment that Arabella had given her that didn't include informing on, tracking down or in any other way incriminating her father. She was only fourteen masquerading as a twenty-two year old, but she figured she'd done plenty of life-threatening things in the past and had come out relatively unscathed—dictating a few measly letters for a Minister suspected of dark sympathies seemed almost tame by comparison. 

Now, as she looked for the office of one of the other insiders, Jill Parry, she wasn't so sure that she could handle this. Her heart was pounding and she felt conspicuous and she was sure that that impertinent young man behind the reception desk was laughing at her. She glared back. Intimidation and bad manners were never endearing to her. She wore an indignant frown as she changed directions and headed straight for his desk. He grinned at her self assuredly. 

"How can I help you, red?" he asked propping his feet up on his desk and leaning back in his chair. Does this one think he's God's gift to women or what? Imogen thought to herself as she let the comment slide, eyeing his nameplate that read Roger Davies. 

"You can start by calling me Ruthie, because yes, my hair is red but it's not worth mentioning," her bored but yet authoritative tone seemed to spark his interest and he sat up, still grinning crookedly. If she'd had the luxury of time, she might actually waste some with him, he was pretty charming in an overly cocky way. But as it was, she was late. 

"Yes, Ruthie," he smiled, "I'm Roger." He stood and held his hand out. Imogen took it. 

"I was wondering if you could direct me to Ms. Parry's office. If she's unavailable, I was wondering if I could speak to Arthur Weasley," Imogen said, a bit unsure of herself. She obviously looked as though she would be fun to toy around with, because the man sat back down, seemingly ignoring her request. 

"Does Ruthie have a last name?" he asked raising his eyebrows as he leaned back again. 

"James. May I please see Ms. Parry?" she persisted. 

"Out at the moment. Ms. James?" he asked making like he was jotting down a message that she highly doubted would reach Ms. Parry from his hands. 

She crossed her arms impatiently and waited for the games to cease. 

"Or is that Mrs. James?" he smiled again. 

"Miss," she answered monotonously, "Then may I see Mr. Weasley please?" 

"Will you let me take you out to dinner tonight?" he asked gallantly. She shook her head. Was he really begging her to shoot him down cruelly in front of this busy lobby full of people? If that was the case…

"Why would I let you do that?" she asked. Her staring at him, all business-like and unflinching made him cower slightly. Not so sure of yourself now, are you, Mr. Davies? She thought to herself. His reaction was almost intoxicating. She had to remind herself that he was a jerk and deserved this. She couldn't justify being this mean to just anyone. He really had asked for it. 

"Because I know you found me charming just now and—," she cut him off, not wanting to hear the rest of his reasons. 

"Mr. Weasley's office, please," she asked, leaning menacingly over his desk, her sage eyes fixed unblinkingly on him. 

"Down that hall and to the left, 420," he conceded. 

"Thank you," she smiled and then turned to leave. 

"You'll be back. You find me irresistible, Ruthie," he called after her, apparently not caring who overheard him. Several ladies laughed behind their hands as they passed. 

She shook her head in the negative. 

"Okay, maybe next weekend. We shared a moment and you know it, Ruthie James," he persisted. 

She stopped and turned, just before rounding the corner. She had to leave him with something. "Oh yes, Mr. Davies. I'll write every magical word of our conversation down in my diary and press it to my heart, thinking fondly of you and sighing like a fool in love," she yelled back sarcastically and blew him a kiss before rounding the corner and laughing hysterically. 

She straightened and composed herself before turning the doorknob of office four-twenty. 

"Way to be professional, Ruthie," Imogen berated herself silently before entering, "you were just shouting across the lobby with some pathetic has been, who probably got all the girls back in school with his flashy smile and his dashing Quidditch robes." Poor thing, she thought jokingly as an amendment to her last idea, he probably still has that old jersey at home and wears it some lonely nights thinking how great he used to be. Sad really. 

*** 

Sirius went back to the London office where he found Arabella pulling report duty. It was always unusual to find her at her desk and so he naturally inquired as to why she wasn't out in the field. 

"I'm expecting a noon report from my new girl on the inside," Arabella answered flatly, sipping her coffee and reading over a file that she was supposed to send out to their correspondent at the Museum, Dr. Beckett. She hated this sort of work and it showed. 

"Ah, Imogen. I don't suppose you're ever going to fill me in on her full story, are you?" Sirius asked, propping his feet up and leaning back. He didn't feel like working. Talking with Peter for half an hour was stress enough for one day. He wasn't going to allow Arabella to be productive either. 

"Do I ever give you the complete background on any of my informants?" she retorted unceremoniously. She never took her eyes off of the documents she held before her, as if she were hiding something. Arabella had her ways, but she was never usually this withholding. "All you ever need to know is that I've checked into her background and she's quite sound. She'll work with us just fine. She won't mess anything up," she assured him. 

"It's not that I think she'll mess anything up, or that she'll turn double agent or any of that—," he began. 

"Then what is it?" Arabella asked, throwing aside her papers, becoming indignant at his inquisition. 

"She's fourteen, Arabella. Don't you think there's a safer place you could start her out? We're not even sure what exactly happened to his last assistant. I'm worried that you've got her way in over her head," he admitted, dropping his feet from the desk and sitting up straight, returning his colleague's stare. 

"Sirius, she's killed two people. Rather than send her to Azkaban, where she undoubtedly belongs, I'm giving her the chance to redeem herself. And she can handle herself just fine." She said this as if the conversation had ended and went back to her reading. "Besides," she added a moment later, "There's always a place at the _Prophet I can stick her if she decides she can't handle this."_

Sirius shook his head, disbelieving, "I just don't see Imogen up and murdering two people in one night like you say. She's too sweet," he said almost to himself. 

Arabella seemed to want to argue, "It wasn't one-hundred percent, cut and dry, black and white murder. She killed a Death Eater Assassin that night when Harry and his friends where in trouble and then our agent only a few minutes after that. She swears that he was taking orders and behaving as any normal Death Eater. There were only a few there, as the other witnesses that evening have confirmed, Voldemort's trusted society only." She shrugged as Sirius nodded, apparently taking in all of this new information eagerly. "Anyway, she claims it was all in her own defense and that of Harry and the others."

"And what do you think?" Sirius asked. 

"He was one of my most trusted at the _Prophet. I want to think that she had it wrong. But she admitted to killing him and gave an accurate description around about the time he went missing last month, so…" she trailed off. _

"So you want to believe her, but it would be better off for your undercover outfit at the _Prophet if he hadn't been a double agent," he clarified for her. _

She shook her head and the analysis of Imogen's pending guilt or innocence lay untouched for the remainder of the workday. 

"How is Peter?" Arabella said with some reservation, after a few minute's silence. 

Sirius gave a cryptic shake of his head. "He looks like he's coming apart in there. I don't know whether I can sell that to the courts as innocent or guilty."

"And you? How did you handle it? Going back there, I mean," she asked tentatively. 

"It's still the same terrifying place, only a little less so with them gone. But it's still haunting to say the least," Sirius admitted. 

"Maybe I should visit him. He could use the company and it would ease my mind to see how he's doing myself," Arabella chanced. 

"I don't want you to go," Sirius said quickly. "It won't do either of you any good."

"I have to. He finally stood up to them. That took a lot for him to do that, you know. He needs to know that there's at least one person around who doesn't want to see him hang, Sirius!" Arabella shouted, jumping to her feet. "I still care about him, even if his other friends have turned their backs," she spat accusingly, walking out the front door and slamming it, drowning out Sirius' retort. 

"I haven't turned on him. He turned on all of us. His _other friends are dead. And I'm the one trying to save his life," he yelled at the door where she'd just exited. _

***

Ruthie left Arthur Weasley's office, filled with all sorts of Muggle gadgets and clutter, feeling more at ease than she'd had since she'd heard what task she'd been assigned to. It felt good to know she's got at least one ally loyal to her side. Sirius had been right in saying that he was the one to go to if she had any problems. He knew the Ministry inside and out and had given her some valuable advice about the Minister. She was exceedingly jealous of Ron and Ginny, she found herself thinking, as she walked up two flights of stairs to the Minster's offices.

Here she was, she thought as her heart beat a mile a minute, she hoped desperately that she didn't do anything inherently stupid and give herself away. She turned the knob and entered. 

"You're late," an older woman chirped as Ruthie walked through the door. 

She opened her mouth in preparation of apologizing and then the woman smiled. 

"Got lost, dear?" she asked with an understanding nod. "This place is a regular zoo. I don't suppose that one at the front desk was all that helpful either."

Ruthie could only shake her head in reply and relief. She thought she would find nothing but enemies, evil and suspicious. She wasn't prepared to find a sympathetic smile and understanding. She had to remind herself that this woman was probably involved in the ring that she was supposed to be subverting. 

"Minister Grey isn't in this early anyway, you're lucky. I can show you around before he gets here and puts you straight to work," said the old lady, pristinely dressed and groomed, with manners and charm to follow. "As aide to the Minister, you will basically be working for me. Do you mind if I call you Ruthie, or do you prefer Ms. James?" 

"Ruthie is perfectly fine," Imogen answered, "And," she faltered, the enormity of her task weighing down on her again. She felt her breathing become more labored and strove to control it. She realized then how unprepared she was coming in here. She didn't even know this woman's name. "I'm sorry," she managed at last, "The man who interviewed me didn't tell me your name."

"Evelyn Milton. Evelyn or Ms. Milton, whichever you prefer, dear," she placed her glasses back on her nose that had previously dangled from a pearl chain around her neck. She reminded Imogen of a more personable Madam Pince. "Your desk is just there," she pointed to a small chair and table in the corner, mail littering the tops of both. "Your first duty of the day will be to sort through all of that mail. You'll get the hang of what to keep and what to toss as you go." She picked up a document she had been revising and pushed her glasses further up her nose. "The Minister's office is just through that door," she indicated a door behind her desk with brass hardware that definitely made it look official. "It's a bit too early for you to meet the staff, as most of them do not arrive until nine or after that. I expect the Minister will want to meet you when he comes in." She paused and looked up at Ruthie, "Any other questions."

Ruthie smiled and set her bag down at her chair piling the mail that had occupied it onto the heaping piles that threatened to topple the tiny desk. "I'll let you know if I come to any," she sat down to make sense out of the mess. 

"Please do, dear," the proper, gray-haired secretary said as she lifted her coffee cup distractedly to her lips. 

Imogen heaved a sigh. This didn't seem to be so hard of a job. But she hadn't even met the Minister yet. He could be a real task master, she reasoned. She'd heard of him, mentioned among some of her father's acquaintance, and was quite eager to see if the rumors were true. If they were, then he was nothing more than a yes-man with a more powerful  backing. She didn't even want to venture a guess at who might be holding the Minister's strings. That wasn't her job. Her job began and ended with the Minister—she went no further than that. That was the deal. 

He was nothing like she imagined, she thought when Solomon Grey finally did appear at his office, around ten. He had a sharp perceptive quality about him that unnerved her slightly. He was perfectly charming in his tailored suit and designer glasses. He wasn't your average politician in that his every movement exuded grace and determination, rather than wasting the effort to cover up their overly arrogant confidence. He was anything but a humble servant of the people. 

She saw now how he had won his office with his mere presence. The former Minister hadn't even been dead for two weeks before, no one really remembers the exact circumstances, he simply appeared and took office. That in itself might be a red flag to anyone who was paying attention, Imogen reasoned, but she could see how the general public would be easily blind-sided by this man. He had a smile that Gilderoy Lockhart would envy and the charismatic personality that Cornelius Fudge had lacked entirely. 

This was going to be an interesting project, Imogen thought with a smile as she was introduced by Ms. Milton to the Minister who was beaming at her. She had always followed politics closely and if, for no other reason than finally being in the middle of it all, this job was going to be exciting. 

"I am honored Ms. James," he said flatteringly as he took her hand, "You came highly recommended and I trust the Master of St. John's College will miss you." He paused a moment and gave this some thought. "That's Oxford, correct?"

"Yes Minister, sir. You may call me Ruthie if you like. I was aide to the Master at St. John's college. But I'm eager to learn something of how politics work from the inside." She smiled. A little too eager, she thought cautiously. She'd have to tone down the giddy-Ravenclaw-in-a-library act before she overdid herself. 

He gave her an appraising look, considering something about her story for a moment or two. "You attended Hogwarts? And Oxford for a while after that?" 

"Yes," she answered. 

"I was interested, for a while, in Muggle law," she added after a moment's reflection. 

"Good," the Minister said, clapping his hands together triumphantly. "I can expect nothing but perfection from you then, Ruthie." He smiled and turned to his office, disappearing behind the thick oak and brass door. 

"Yes, Minister. Absolutely!" she smiled after him. He loves me she thought with such self satisfaction that she nearly skipped back to her desk to sort the mail. She could handle this job, even if the Minister was a bit on the scary side. 

"He's taken with you, I can tell," Ms. Milton said over the rim of her glasses. 

"He's taller than I imagined him to be," Ruthie admitted with a pleased smile, tossing some of Minister Grey's fan mail into a pile. 


	3. Wounds

Disclaimer: I own the plot—loosely. (I've borrowed a few concepts from Philip Pullman's _The Golden Compass). J.K. Rowling owns all scenes and characters of the Harry Potter series, with the exception of Imogen, Jill, Gabriel, Elena and Anni. (Other characters may appear when necessary). _

Author's Note: I apologize if I'm losing people here. I'll try to explain as best I can. Bear in mind that during the first half of this story, it's not necessary to know completely what's up. It's all in the name of a good story line. 

Chapter Three

Wounds

_"Fear in me so deep_

_It gets the best of me_

_In the fear I fall _

_Here it comes face to face with me_

_Here I stand_

_Hold back so no one can see _

_I feel these wounds_

_Step down…step down…step_

_Am I breaking?_

_Can I break away_

_Push me away _

_Make me fall _

_Just to see _

_Another side of me…"_

_Trust Company: 'Downfall'_

                _She knew what options were left to her and in those last few seconds that remained for her to chose—feeling a large shard of glass slice through her palm—she had made her decision. It was a decision that had ended Lucy's life in that very same moment. _

_                She remembered how it felt—the cold glass, the warm blood as it rushed from the wound she'd inflicted on another, taking the last vestiges of life with it. _

_                With increased, painful breaths she dropped the glass in disbelief as she watched the dark eyes of her attacker deaden. She had to work fast to get out of this mess and to help the others. But, the startling reality was, she couldn't move. She was paralyzed with the gravity of it. She was a murderer. _

_                It was eerie to see her own eyes, her face on one of the people she'd hated most. She was almost relieved for a second that she'd killed this woman—a woman famous for killing so many. _

_                She picked up a piece of glass, mirror that had shattered at her feet, surveying her own reflection. She had adopted the dark, merciless eyes, upturned and heavily lined and dark Russian features. She had become Elena Vassikin and Elena was dead. _

_                She allowed herself a small, mirthless laugh at the irony of the situation: she was the one to blame for her own death, yet she would be the only one to walk out of here alive. Lucy was dead. Elena was dead—Imogen alone had survived. _

_                She bent and plucked the knife from Elena's lifeless hand—the knife that was to be her end. _

_                With one bloody hand, Imogen as Elena, stashed the knife inside her cloak (the cloak that had belonged to Elena). _

_                One last look around the room afforded Imogen the chance to pray to whoever might hear her, "God be with me. God be with my friends," she wiped a tear from her cheek and turned the knob, "Have the grace to spare them from this scene," she finished as her eyes lingered on her handy work. Only Lucy lay lifeless on the floor in a pool of blood. She desperately hoped that Draco would not stumble upon this sight. She would spare him from it if she could. _

_                She shut the door and walked briskly up the hall to fulfill the role that was expected of Elena. She didn't want to bring suspicion upon the others unnecessarily and so acted her part. _

_                "It is done, my lord," she announced as she came into the hall where she met the two men that she had always feared the most. _

_                Tom turned, looking hassled but clam at the same time and nodded. _

_                Lucius Malfoy was with him. His eyes lingered disdainfully on her crimson stained hands. _

_                Her first impulse was to hide the incriminating stains in the folds of her cloak. She was thoroughly ashamed of the violent act she had just committed—but Elena would have been proud of her latest kill, she reminded herself. She stayed her shaking hands and moved further into the room, reminding herself that Elena walked with purpose, not intimidated by these two. She was their equal in evil genius. _

_                Imogen almost smiled at just how untrue that truth was at this particular moment.             _

_                "What troubles you, my lord?" Imogen asked, moving toward Tom to accept the arm that he offered her. _

_                "Lucius has lost me my sacrifice, his son Draco as well as my treasure, the seer," he bit off this answer as if wishing to say more, but he didn't. _

_                Imogen's heart leapt at the news. Draco and Ginny had gotten out. It was the hopeful news that she was longing for and doubting at the same time. She knew also that it was hopeless to try an escape. They couldn't walk out over the bridge. It was certainly guarded. There were wards to prevent Apparating. _

_                They were still in the fortress somewhere. _

_                "I will find them, my lord," Imogen offered under the intense glare of Lucuis. She knew that he no more wanted his son in the hands of the Dark Lord than she did. He wanted no immortality for his master. In fact, Imogen knew that he had plans to end his master's life tonight, placing himself in the seat of power. He had his own agenda to attend to. Voldemort was certainly a large obstacle, quickly removed, on the road to his own goals and ambitions. _

_                "Oh, I know where it is they have gone. Can you have no guess?" Tom waited for the idea to come to her. _

_                Imogen only shook her head. _

_                "Elena, my dear. They have gone after the little one. But as you have just informed me, young Miss Malfoy is no more." He turned and smiled slyly at Lucius who betrayed no surprise. "Yes, I used her to motivate him."_

_                "Very clever," Lucius said in a bored tone. _

_                Imogen would have cried if she were free to do so. The exchange was heartbreaking. They talked of Lucy as if she were nothing. Whether she lived or died meant nothing to either of them. At least it should have meant something to her father. _

_                But he care nothing for her. Imogen knew that. _

_                With Lucius and Tom, Imogen traced her steps back to the very room she had previously escaped from, dreading what she would find there—praying that she had the strength to keep in character. It would be hard not to confess everything, to lessen the pain of the people she loved, the people who were now standing in the broken glass of the shattered mirror, looking on in surreal disbelief as Draco cradled his dead sister. _

_                They had found her. Imogen was condemned in that moment. _

_                She heard none of the snide repartee that passed between Tom and Ron. It only registered later, as if in hindsight, that there was something terribly wrong with Ginny. As Ron argued with Tom, she lay quite still in his arms—a sort of grim copy of the other pair of siblings in the room. It hadn't occurred to her then that Ginny might be in grave peril. _

_                Act your part, she urged herself. It was of the utmost importance to keep Elena's character and habits._

_                The Lestranges entered the room, seizing hold of Ron, wrenching Ginny from his grasp.  Hermione made a movement toward him only to be roughly detained by a cloaked figure. _

_                Imogen had formed a sort of half-plan in her fuzzy and guilty mind. She had to get to Harry if she intended to help them out of here. She failed at saving Lucy, but she could still save him—not that playing the martyr would redeem her. _

_                She betrayed the smallest of sobs as Harry glared at her. She grabbed his wrist roughly, pinning his arm behind his back. Elena wasn't that intimidating in stature, but she was certainly as tall as him. In any case, he didn't seemed eager to put up a fight. It was the first moment that Imogen suspected Lucy's death had crippled him. _

_                Draco, laying Lucy aside, seething with rage followed Tom willingly from the room. The rest, prisoners and captives followed behind. _

_                The determination that set his jaw and the murderous intent that glinted in his eyes made Imogen shutter. Draco looked more like his father than she had ever seen him look. _

_She prayed. _

_She asked for determination and strength. She didn't know how much longer she could hold on. Her knees felt weak and every step was becoming arduous. She was running on less than two hours sleep. _

_"Is that blood on your hands Lucy's or have you killed more innocent people tonight that you can count? Hard to keep track after a while isn't it?" Harry shot scathingly over his shoulder. _

_Imogen's heart sank painfully. He would never understand. She knew that he was speaking to Elena—but he was somehow speaking to her as well. He would never forgive her for this, she dreaded it with every step she took. She had to believe there was a hope of his understanding, or she couldn't have gone on. _

_It wouldn't help to explain that the blood on her hands was her own, coming from  deep wound on her palm. She told him to keep walking and shoved him roughly onward. _

_In the ceremony hall, lined with Medieval weaponry of all kinds, Imogen thanked God for her fortune. There seemed to be no place more conducive for an all out brawl that this one. She watched as each captive was tied. _

_She bound Harry's wrists together, tying him to a pillar next to Ginny, careful to leave the knot inconspicuously loose. _

_She looked at Ginny, careful to keep indifference on her face. She didn't look good. She was slumping. Her bonds were the only thing holding her up. _

_She looked to Draco who seemed to give Ginny's condition a moment's thought as well, before being presented with the sword of Gryffindor. _

_Imogen tried not to watch. She knew it was an unequal match in Lucius' favor. She only hoped Draco could handle his own while she worked from the outside. _

_Even though her joints were painfully stiff, she moved as deftly and silently as possible, knife out—ready to strike. _

_The large troll of a Death Eater, stood with his back to her, anticipating the parley that was to take place between Draco and his father. He hadn't the chance to cry out as Imogen leapt onto his back dragging the blade across his neck. She cringed as she felt the soft flesh of his neck and the arteries beyond that give way under the sharp blade. Again, the warm, familiar feeling of blood washing over her hands greeted her. She had killed twice. This time it wasn't in self-defense. _

_She leapt off of his back and jumped to the side to avoid the crushing impact of his body as it hit the floor. _

_No one heard. _

_Harry had freed himself from the ill tied bonds. He had the sword of Gryffindor. Hermione and Ron were free and were freeing Ginny at that moment. Draco was dodging the advances of his father. Voldemort—Tom, was cowering like a trapped snake against his precious assurances of life immortal. _

_Imogen fought the urge to jump into the fray and help. But, she had to work under the assurances that her friends could save themselves from this point. _

_She had to get the wards up. _

_Running as fast as her tired limbs could carry her, she dodged in and out of rooms, looking for the bloody idol. She knew that Ravenclaw's castle contained a ward protection in an ancient runic idol—a sort of pagan crucifix. _

_She noted with a half-interest that the Lestranges had ducked out the front entrance. She wondered how far they would get before they were hunted as traitors. She knew, pessimistically, that not every evil person would perish here tonight. And certainly both of them would hunt traitors down outright. _

_Then she saw it. The idol was in a small antechamber off of the main entrance. She ran toward it—not knowing how else to disarm it, she flung herself at it, knocking it to the ground. It smashed and the foundations shuddered. The charm had lifted. _

_Before she had the chance to turn around, she heard the entrance doors crash open. Urgent footsteps exited the fortress. _

_She hoisted herself wearily from the ground. She was nearly spent. Her legs were wobbly. _

_She came out into the hallway, the enormous oak doors, the entrance to Ravenclaw's keep were flung wide open crashing against the stone walls in the driving wind and rain. Out on the bridge she could barely make out Ron and Hermione, carrying a frightfully lifeless Ginny. _

_Draco and Harry were not with them. _

_She realized this almost the same instant that they came hurtling around the corner, the crackling of flames and the roar of collapsing masonry registering in her hearing. _

_The structure was caving. _

_They would be buried in a matter of minutes if they didn't get out now. _

_Harry was still carrying the sword and, though she deserved any revenge he might feel inclined to exact upon her, she cowered back into the wards chamber and waited for them to exit ahead of her. _

_The crash just outside of her door soon afterward told that the entrance had been caved in—her way was blocked. _

_Trapped, frightened and weary, Imogen gave it all up for lost and slumped against the wall. Her legs were unable to support her any more and she sat hard on the ground. She would die and she deserved nothing less. _

_But the thought that she still had a job to do, family to take care of, friends to watch out for, prompted her forward. She couldn't leave Draco alone. She couldn't allow Harry to shoulder all of the guilt of Lucy's death, she didn't even know whether Ginny would make it. She had to keep going. It was selfish of her to give up, she scolded herself. _

_She nearly gagged on the stifling amount of smoke permeating the air, ash was falling from the rafters as they were slowly being consumed in the spreading inferno. _

_Her eyes burned, but she could see through the thickening blanket of black a small window on the north wall of the room. She guessed her chances were better in braving the chill waters of the loch than the fire and smoke of her current hell. _

_She closed her eyes and jumped. _

_She felt her stomach lurch with the fall. _

Flinging her arms and legs out to stop her descent, she gasped and jumped up. She blinked, startled to find herself on a plush couch. A warm fire crackled in the grate next to her. 

Draco eyed her suspiciously from a green velvet chair in the corner. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" he asked, almost laughing at her reaction. 

"Nothing—dream," she muttered, mortified to have a witness to her private insanity, "don't stare at people while they're sleeping. Don't you come with any manners?"

"I don't have a practical use for them," he admitted. 

"Oh, but clearing a liquor cabinet in two hours has its practical uses?" she asked sarcastically, scanning her scarred palm. It was a reminder that that whole frightening scene was real and ever present. She was still paying for her actions of that night. And she would continue to pay until she could find something incriminating enough to send another to Azkaban in her place. 

"Sometimes," Draco agreed. "I need you to do something for me," he added, treating the matter as if she had already agreed to be party to his plans. 

"What do I look like to you? Your bloody go-to girl?" Imogen asked, sitting up and rubbing her back, wincing. 

Draco shrugged, "Of course you do," he smiled, "take this to Ginny."

Imogen eyed the bronze Pensieve incredulously. "No way in hell!" she exclaimed. "You make up with your girlfriend without me, if you don't mind."

"Imogen!" Draco implored. 

"No," she answered. 

"Imogen, Immy. Be a friend. Do this one thing for me. Just this once. I don't want to see her and I don't want this piece of junk." Draco whined. He was no good at it. He looked ridiculous when he begged. 

"You're such a child. Why the hell can't you…" she paused and her heart leapt, "Oh shit!"

Her eyes widened comically and Draco looked at her has if she were a mental patient. 

"What?" he asked. 

"What day is it?" she asked, panicked, jumping to her feet. 

"What day is it?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "Hmm…I'm not quite sure I know the answer to that question," he teased, holding out the Pensieve as she rushed at him, very harassed. 

"You fucking bastard! What day is it?" she asked grabbing wildly at his robes pulling him from the back of his chairs by the collar. 

He laughed. "Take this to Ginny," he demanded. 

She released him and snatched the centuries old artifact from his hands resignedly. 

"Saturday," he chimed, "one-sixteen in the afternoon," he offered further, consulting his watch, "or maybe it's Tuesday," his smile widened into a sly grin. 

She shoved him back against his chair, shaking her head. She headed for the common room entrance and added just before leaving, "You're such a jackass, Draco."

"Ah, but I'm a jackass with an incredible wit and stylish shoes," he amended. 

***

_ "That still doesn't matter," Sirius said, scanning a letter from Jill Parry, Dept. For Experimental Charms. She was one of their insiders in the Ministry and a dear friend of Arabella's from school. _

"Why doesn't it?" Arabella shot back vehemently, "He aided in the downfall of Voldemort same as Harry and his friends. Your judgment is clouded when it comes to Peter. You are hell bent on avenging people who don't want avenging. Stop being such a noble idiot and help your friend. He still _is your friend after all," Arabella lectured. _

"Huh, would you look at the time. I'm late. I wouldn't want to keep Jill waiting," Sirius said as a means of extracting himself from another one of their now famous rows. Every conversation they'd had lately seemed to come back to Peter and it always ended with shouting. 

Sirius was in too good of a mood for shouting. He'd been long in beating around the bush with Jill. Since Dumbledore had put him in contact with her back in the summer of ninety-four he'd been immediately attracted to her. Never having had the talent of picking his moments, Sirius had let several opportunities pass him by. 

Jill ended up making the first move, embarrassingly enough. 

He laughed at her none too subtle approach—very like Jill. "I've hired a baby-sitter tonight for Gabriel on the off chance that you've finally found the courage to ask me out to dinner." 

He had been so caught off guard by her forwardness that he'd promptly walked into a door. 

He'd met Gabriel on a few occasions. He often times accompanied his mother to work as she was alone and didn't trust daycare. She was one of those protective types that barely had a life outside of taking care of her child. Sirius had no desire to pry into her past and so only knew the basics of her husband's death. He had been an Auror and was killed in action. Sirius knew no more than this and never asked questions. 

 When the promised baby-sitter canceled and Sirius had offered Harry for the job, her accepting instead of canceling their date offered him the hope that this could evolve into something worth while. The kid turned out to be a four-year-old handful. Sirius was worried how Harry might handle it, never having actually spent so much as five minutes alone with a kid, since he and Dudley were that age. But, to Sirius' great relief, they had become fast friends. Gabriel worshipped Harry as a hero and Harry had found the challenge of watching such a unrelenting ball of energy quite amusing. 

Gabriel asked about Harry nearly every time he saw Sirius. 

"I bet you don't want to keep her waiting," Arabella peered over the rim of her glasses, knowingly raising her eyebrows at him. 

"Bye, Bella," he said in a tone that voiced clearly his impatience for her teasing. He slid his sunglasses on and walked out the door. 

"Give my love to Jill and Gabe, dear," she laughed as he shut the door and blocked her comments. She lived to make his life an uncomfortable Purgatory. 

Sirius stepped out into the September sun desperate to keep his mind off of Peter for once. He smiled as the tiny sound of a boy's voice called his name. 

Gabriel waved excitedly, shouting as his mother wiped ice cream from his mouth. He wiggled in protest as Sirius came up to them. His face, smeared with fudge, gleamed as Sirius high-fived him. 

It could really go to one's head, to have the adoration of a four-year old, Sirius thought, over something as trivial as a high-five. But Gabriel loved it. 

"Hello," Jill laughed, watching the exchange between her son and Sirius. 

"Hi," Sirius offered, a bit shyly. He sat next to Gabe. 

He had never been able to keep his eyes off of Jill, since the day he'd met her. She had the short, bobbed hair and dramatic features of Audrey Hepburn. Not only was she beautiful, she was smart. She had amazing resources when it came to spying inside the Ministry. She was one of their most accomplished on the inside. She was singly responsible for the capture of Walden MacNair. And now she was heading up the private investigation into the sympathies and practices of David Torrell, Director of Forces, Dept. of Magical Law Enforcement. 

He opened his mouth to say something that would probably have turned out to be an unintelligible disaster, but he was interrupted as Gabriel tugged on his shirt sleeve, jumping up and down sporadically. 

"Where is Harry?" he asked eagerly. 

Sirius smiled. The charm of such a small and rambunctious boy still hadn't worn off yet. He wasn't even sure that he would ever grow weary of the boy's incessant fidgeting and questions. He found his questions amusing and the fact that he had a question about everything and when Sirius attempted an answer another question would pop up to replace the one he'd asked only seconds before. 

"He's at school, mate," Sirius attempted as Jill reached over, removing her son's ice cream sodden hand from Sirius' shirt. She wiped at the stain and muttered an embarrassed apology. 

"I already explained it to you, dear. Don't you remember," Jill continued gently, "older boys and girls have to go to school to learn their proper magic and someday you'll go to school just like Harry."

"And I will go to school with Harry?"

Sirius chuckled softly behind his hand as Jill shook her head at her insistent son. "No dear. Harry will be finished with school long before you're old enough to attend," she answered, wiping his hands and removing her wand to clean Sirius' shirt. 

***

Imogen hung back for a minute to watch some Gryffindors give the password and enter their common room. It was really a shame how simple it was to trick unsuspecting Gryffindors. 

She shook her head. Now she was thinking like a Slytherin. That had to stop immediately. Just because she wore the tie didn't mean she would automatically carry the mantle. 

She was glad that it was Saturday, not only because she had been afraid that she'd missed class and work, but because it would be easier to pass through the portrait hole without the conspicuous green and silver stripes to call attention to her. 

She came to stand in front a large woman in pink who demanded the password of her. 

She gave it with confidence and entered. 

There were very few people inside the plush red velvet and gold walled room. Of course there wouldn't be. It was Saturday after all. She noticed with slight indignation that their common room was much nicer than that of her house. For one thing, there were no drippy stone walls and another, it was a vast deal larger. She didn't care though. She didn't even sleep in the Slytherin's quarters. It would be too obvious to everyone if she were coming and going at the odd hours she was accustomed to. Having her duties at the Ministry and going to school took a lot of coordination and she stayed most nights at Arabella's house. 

It was lucky for her that she didn't have any dorm mates (the only Slytherin girl in her year) and that she was, for the most part, a loner. No one had noticed her absences thus far. 

She looked around for a little bit and debated whether she should ask someone if they knew where she could find Ginny Weasley, but decided against that. 

Instead, she climbed a set of stairs at the back of the room, assuming that they lead to the dorms. 

She scanned each brass plaque on the door that announced the years and genders of the occupants. "Efficient," she muttered to herself. She was always a fan of the orderly and tidy. 

She finally came to a door at the end of a long corridor that announced that it was the sixth year girls that lived here. 

She planned on just popping in and dropping the bloody thing on one of the beds. It would find its way from there into its owner's hands, she guessed. 

But when she opened the door, she was met with a sight that told her she wasn't alone in the room. 

Ginny sat on one of the beds, a large book opened in her lap. She didn't look up but asked in a slightly agitated voice, "I thought you were going to spend your day following Dean around, Nan?" She flipped a page and kept her eyes diverted. Whoever this Nan was, Ginny didn't appear to be too friendly with her. 

"I'm not Nan. But I can come back at a better time," Imogen offered. Ginny looked up, shocked to find that it wasn't who she expected. 

"Oh! No, I'm sorry I thought—," Ginny began to explain. 

"You thought I was some tramp named Nan who stalks a boy named Dean. I got that," Imogen stated. 

Ginny closed the book on her lap, a photo album, and looked expectantly at Imogen. She looked as if she was struggling to place her face. Then she shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are." 

"Imogen Spencer," she said self-consciously. "I have this for you," she added, producing the small bronze Pensieve. 

"How did you…?" Ginny asked, astonished. 

"Draco.  He asked me to bring it up to you," she added, knowing how lame that sounded. She couldn't help it, those were her orders. Credit for lameness would have to go to Draco for that one. 

"He had it and he couldn't give it to me in person?" she wasn't accusing at all, more hurt than offended. 

Imogen shrugged and set the Pensieve at the foot of her bed, "He's a pansy-ass coward," she offered simply. 

Ginny laughed and picked up the bronze cup, surveying it apprehensively. 

Imogen turned to leave. She probably couldn't sleep anymore today, although she desperately wanted to. But she could get some homework done at least. 

Ginny stopped her with her hand on the doorknob.

"Wait," she said, suddenly realizing something. "You're the little Slytherin girl. The one that was in the cell next to me in Azkaban."

"Yeah," Imogen said. What a trip down memory lane, she thought, 'we were cell-mates in hell, remember?' She bent to tie her shoelace before leaving. 

"Is that a…a Time-Turner?" Ginny asked, amazed when she saw the small piece of jewelry that fell from its hiding place inside Imogen's collar. 

"Yes," she answered nervously. No one was supposed to have known about that. She looked to Ginny, knowing she would keep her secret, but panicked just the same. 

Ginny eyed the Pensieve for a moment. 

Imogen stared at her for the longest moment. "What are you going to do with it?" she asked Ginny out of curiosity. 

"I don't know. Write a book," she shrugged sarcastically, a mischievous glint sparkled behind her eyes as she looked up at Imogen. 

Imogen stared back, slightly intimidated. 

"Do you want to have a little fun, Imogen?" Ginny asked with a grin. 


	4. Tea and Sympathy

Disclaimer: All of the standard legal stuff applies. I own only a few characters and some plot. Rowling owns the rest. 

Author's Note: If you happen to be slightly confused with regards to Ruthie and Imogen, I'll give you a hint: They are the same person. The rest you have to figure out yourself—sorry. You are very welcome to e-mail me or leave questions in your review if your lost. (Most likely, the fault is mine and I've failed in my number one goal: clearly conveying my story. But there's a twist and so it becomes even more complicated to write). But I will answer to the best of my ability anything you may want to know. 

Thank You's go out to:

Oliverwoodsgirl: Thank you for your review. I have to say you are getting very close to figuring Imogen out. Maybe this chapter will point you in the right direction. 

Linda: Thank you so much for you interest. Your review made my entire day. Thank you terribly for the kind words and encouragement. I hope that the rest of this story lives up to your expectations. 

Kim: I consider this to be some of the least of my work. I am so glad that you enjoyed it. It gives me hope that my chapters to come will keep you reading. Thank you for your very flattering praise. 

Chapter Four

Tea And Sympathy

_"Not intended _

_To leave this castle full of empty rooms_

_Our love the captive in the tower never rescued _

_And all the victory songs _

_Seemed to be playing out of tune_

_Cause it's not the way _

_That it has to be_

_Don't trade our love for tea and sympathy_

_No, it's not the way _

_That it has to be…"_

_Jars of Clay: 'Tea and Sympathy'_

                Monday morning found Imogen reluctant to wake up and start her monotonous routine all over again. After a week trailing Minister Grey, she was finding nothing that could aid in his demise. He was a straight arrow—or at least he was skilled in playing one. 

                It wasn't her Ministry job that she was growing tired of. It was the fact that when her work there was done, she would have to start the entire day over, going to her remedial classes at Hogwarts as a student. 

                She wasn't forced to attend Hogwarts though. It was her choice—her condition, really. She felt that she must stay there, if only to keep an eye on Draco. He seemed content to drink himself into destruction and that worried her enough to make the concession worthwhile. Pulling double duty was worth it to remain his voice of reason and guardian. And whether he would admit it or not, a guardian was exactly what he needed. 

                She rolled over on her side, yawning and sluggish and picked up the bracelet that she always carried with her. She opened one of the small compartments—the blue sapphire one—and popped the pill it concealed without the aid of water. To most people that would seem disgusting, but it was survival. She had to learn to get along with very little. There was at least two occasions she could remember when there was no water at hand and she had to keep replenishing the potion in her veins to maintain her identity. 

                Now she was into the habit of always swallowing them dry. 

                She replaced the bracelet on the nightstand and pulled the covers back over her head. It would take a moment or two for the pill to course through her veins and she was eager to catch what little sleep time remained to her. 

                Ten minutes or so later, her internal clock told her that she needed to get up finally. She pulled at her hair, satisfied to find it had turned auburn. She was Ruthie. 

                Kicking the covers off of her, the joints in her legs stiff from disuse, Imogen stood and stretched her back. Her back always hurt, but she was getting better at ignoring it. 

                She opened the door and padded across the hall to the bathroom. The house was quiet. Either Arabella wasn't up yet or she had gone into the office early—both were likely. 

                She showered, changed and covered up the circles under her eyes with makeup. She surveyed her appearance. Ruthie, she considered, was one of her prettiest identities. She loved acting this role far more than her others. Although Imogen had the most fun, she was also the most plain of all of them. 

                She shrugged, surveying her appearance once more in the mirror and left the house, walking the few blocks to the Underground. 

***

                Harry knew Ron was angry with him. The silent treatment really wasn't necessary. 

                He was in the hall, just outside of McGonagall's classroom walking at Hermione's side quietly. They were all quiet. It seemed that no one had anything to say to the other. 

                Hermione had tried to stimulate conversation at breakfast, but seemed disappointed when all she got was non-committal noises and one-word answers from him. But Ron was worse. He hadn't even opened his mouth and only glared at Harry. 

                They took their usual seats at the back of the room, but didn't even have time to pull out their books and notes when Professor McGonagall's voice summoned them to the front of the room. 

                "Miss Granger, Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley. May I see the three of you for a minute?" she asked, staring over her spectacles at them as she walked past the rows of desk and out into the hall. 

                The three of them looked briefly at each other and followed. 

                "Professor Dumbledore has returned just last night and has expressed an urgent need to speak to the three of you in his office. You are excused from class, but come directly back when you are finished," she said with rigid posture and hands folded properly in front of her, "Do you understand?"

                Three mechanically nodding heads answered her and said, "yes, Professor."

                They followed her back into the classroom to collect their things. They were silent and asked no questions of each other. 

                Harry was beginning to feel uneasy about this impending meeting. It was the same as it always had been: Horrifying experience, loss of more people he cared about and then the sterile and mechanical recounting of it all. Dumbledore would nod sympathetically and then impart some crystals of wisdom so that everyone could grow from the experience. Harry didn't want to grow from it, he thought angrily. It was bad enough that he had survived it. And now to relive it—he regretted that Ron and Hermione were being put through it all as well. In the past, Harry would have to face meetings like this alone and now they were subject to it as well. The old familiar feeling of having brought this on them all came back to Harry with uncomfortable clarity. 

                He heaved his bag onto his shoulder and filed out behind his silent friends and left the classroom. 

                In the hall, just below the stairs, Ginny caught up with them. 

                "Do you know what he wants with all of us?" she asked timidly, she seemed to have already guessed. 

                "He wants to interrogate us about what happened in Ireland," Harry answered blandly. 

                Ginny gave an involuntary shudder and stared forlornly at the ground in front of her feet. Harry imagined that if there were anyone more reluctant to relive the events of the past summer than him it would probably be her. 

                Ron, walking beside her, placed a comforting arm around her shoulders and in a reassuring voice said, "He won't make you talk if you don't want to, Gin. Besides, we'll all be there with you."

                She half smiled at his attempts but kept her eyes glued to the ground. 

***

                Draco sat frowning, hands folded on his lap, staring blankly at the Headmaster as he spoke.

                He had been slightly surprised to see him in this condition. Whatever thoughts the Headmaster had conjured in his mind, weak was never one of them. And yet, as he stood and Draco had entered his office, the sight of Professor Dumbledore leaning on a cane and limping gave him the pathetic air of weakness—senility even. 

                "Professor Snape has informed me of your decision regarding the position of Head Boy," Dumbledore said in a weary voice. 

                "I have turned it down."

                "I don't want to know your reasons. They are your own and you may keep them if you wish," he paused and stared at Draco in a way that unnerved him, "But I do hope that your decision was based on your own expectations and choices and no other outside factors."

                "Outside factors?" Draco asked, feeling a little put upon. In his nearly seven years at school here, the Headmaster had not been remotely interested in his motives, choices or decisions. The loss of nearly his entire family within roughly the past three years was no call to be so now. 

                "Like your father, Draco," Dumbledore answered plainly. 

                He merely stared. 

                "I mean only to council you to live for yourself and not for others," the Headmaster finished, sensing Draco's unease with the subject of his father. 

                "There is no one else besides me now is there?" he pointed out a little scathingly. He knew what the Headmaster was getting at and he was just being obtuse for his own amusement—and to put off the inevitable discussion of his sister. 

                Conversation began to follow that path and Draco began to dread every syllable. He hardly heard the old man's words and stared distractedly at the large Boarhound asleep by the desk, unable to look into the compassionate blue eyes that were leveled at him. He didn't want compassion—not from someone who didn't know him, didn't know Lucy. 

                He nodded and made non-committal noises and that seemed to satisfy the Headmaster. 

                A knock at the door brought sweet reprieve and Draco was glad for the distraction until he saw whom it was that had knocked. 

                The first image to assault his eyes was Ron. Then Hermione and Harry appeared behind him. Last and worst of all, Ginny came uncertainly into the office. 

                His first thought was how long could he stay in this room and remain cold and aloof—it was never easy with her there. He was feeling acutely how bad things were when she was there. But for some stubborn and unnamed reason, he couldn't face her—couldn't talk to her. He'd behaved so badly before and apologies were never his forte. Besides, he countered reasonably, he wasn't even sure how she felt. They hadn't really gotten that far over the summer. He had hoped that she felt something for him but at the same time wouldn't let himself entertain the fact that he'd felt anything for her. When she had been taken this summer it had put everything into stark perspective for him and he felt he would do anything to get her back—give anything. As it turns out, he had to give up his sister—the one person whose love he was sure of, whom he could count on. And now that it was all over, he wasn't sure if he would have agreed to such a sacrifice. He just wasn't sure about anything and that frightened him a bit. 

                Noting the dull indifference that clouded her eyes and masked her usually animated expression was cause for alarm as well. Out of the corner of his eye he noted her alterations with mild curiosity and concern. It was probably just guilt, he reasoned. He tried to occupy himself with internal criticism for the group that loitered before him. Harry and Hermione sat beside him in the plush leather chairs across from the Headmaster's desk—he tried to pay little attention to them. 

                Ron was out of his range of vision and lurked annoyingly somewhere behind his chair. 

                Ginny sat by the window, somewhat apart from the group, grave and nervous. She didn't want to be here any more than he did. 

                "I have had the official reports while I was deterred in the hospital," Professor Dumbledore began in a solemn tone, "But I would appreciate some clarity on a few points that only those involved in the incident can provide. If you are willing, I would like to hear from the beginning what exactly happened inside of Ravenclaw's castle that night."

                He waited for objections and when he got none he moved on. "Starting with my Casualty Ward neighbor," he continued with a sympathetic wink toward Ginny who jumped slightly as if coming out of a daze. 

                Casualty Ward? Draco thought with a rather unkind inward smirk, she would start with recognition at that. She must be in and out of there more often than Potter was in and out of the Hogwarts Infirmary. Probably another failed attempt at suicide. What would that bring her current record up to? He wondered. 

                Dumbledore continued. "How did your visions come about? What was the nature of them? What did they reveal to you?"

                She shifted uncomfortably at this. 

                Draco saw Ron move toward his sister and take her hand as she attempted to answer. 

                "I guess it started around the beginning of my fourth year," she began uncertainly. 

                "Two years," Dumbledore stated flatly. 

                Ginny's head shot guiltily upward in reply, as if this were some sort of accusation. 

                "I," she began again. Her chest was rising and falling with short, agitated breaths. "I didn't know what they were at first. But it was sort of like dreaming—only sometimes I was awake," she admitted, returning her eyes to the floor. 

                "A trance," Dumbledore informed her. 

                She seemed uncomfortable with the terminology. Draco couldn't blame her for that—it was a freakish gift and he'd wondered how she got along with something like that. The answer seemed to be not very well. 

                The Headmaster left Ginny for a while, questioning the others in turn. Draco had been called upon to lend information about his father's involvement and anything helpful that Voldemort may have said while he was in the room with them. 

                Hermione's account of the dark and dangerous Elena Vassikin gave him a start. Draco new that there was nothing redeemable about that woman. She was his father's mistress. Openly. While his mother was still alive. They all knew about her. It was she whom his father had commissioned to kill his sister. 

                And yet, as Hermione told it, it sounded as though they owed their escape to her. She had loosened Harry's restraints, killed the guard and who knows what else—according to Hermione. 

                He would have to think this over on his own before he could subscribe to such a wild stretch.

                He knew her and knew that nothing interested her that didn't involved brutal murder. What would have been her motives in setting them free? He couldn't guess. 

                Harry gave a reluctant account of Voldemort's death as Draco stared at his watch. 

                He knew what would follow. Lucy. 

                So far the Headmaster had been careful not to mention her in front of this group, but conversation turned that way before Draco had expected it. 

                Again, Dumbledore's attention turned to Ginny who was ringing her hands—waiting for the inevitable topic as well.  

                "And how was it discovered that the Ravenclaw heir was Miss Malfoy?" he asked, looking toward Ginny. 

                Ginny dared a brief glance at Draco, glaring back at her. She dropped her gaze to the ground once more and swallowed hard. 

                Draco would not feel any sympathy for her. Her fear had delivered his sister into the hands of his all too willing father and to Voldemort. It was, for the most part, on her conscience that Lucy's death would rest. 

                He suddenly realized that he didn't want to hear her answer. She could say nothing, he imagined, that would convince him of her innocence. 

                As she seemed to struggle for the words to say, Draco got up quickly from his chair in front of Dumbledore's desk and made a direct path for the door. 

                He wouldn't dare chance a look at the expression they all must have worn. He knew they all loathed him for walking out like this. But he wouldn't stick around to hear the particulars of his sister's death discussed by strangers. He just wouldn't. 

                Without a word he shut the door behind him, leaving the do-gooders to explain away Lucy's death as they wished. 

                He just wouldn't be an audience to it. 

***

                Imogen sat in the sterile, scrubbed cafeteria of the Ministry across the table from one of Sirius' contacts. Jill was an incredibly beautiful woman with a kind face and a patient air. 

                She must need all of her patience, Imogen reasoned. Her son was a rambunctious ball of energy that never ceased. But he was adorable. 

                She watched with a smile as he played in the food on his mother's tray and his own as his mother talked with her, intermittently removing his hands from the food and wiping them clean. 

                She explained that she sometimes had to bring him in with her when his regular sitter canceled. She didn't seem too inconvenienced by his presence though. Imogen watched with wonder, as she seemed to tend to his needs and carry on with her job in a practiced grace born of practice. 

                She'd never been around children herself. But Imogen was nevertheless charmed by this one. 

                Gabriel was his name. But an angel he was not—that was probably why Imogen liked him so much. 

                "So, Ruthie," Jill began again after wrestling her son back into his chair and wiping his face. "How did you enjoy your first week here at the Ministry?" 

                Imogen smiled. "It was tons of fun. I have to say that all of my nerves and apprehensions about the job seem unfounded now. I love it."

                She nodded and put a hand over Gabriel's mouth as he began to bark loudly in imitation of a dog. 

                Imogen laughed despite his mother's displeasure with his scene. 

                "He is too adorable," Imogen said "Does he bear more of a resemblance to your husband? His hair is too dark to have come from your share of the genes."

                Jill laughed. "No, we adopted Gabriel from a children's home on the East End. But he does share his father's knack for drawing attention to himself," she added as Gabriel was turned around in his seat blowing kisses to a group of women seated a few tables away. 

                "I used to do some charity work for children's homes in the city. Maybe I know the one that Gabriel came from," Imogen said. 

                "St. Michael's. Are you familiar with it?"

                Imogen's blood ran cold for a fraction of a second. Yes she'd heard of it before, but not from her charity work. It was the orphanage that Tom Riddle, Jr. had been raised in. "No, I'm sorry to say that it doesn't ring a bell," she lied. 

                Jill shrugged. "We began searching for a child about six months after we were married, John and I. We went to St. Michael's and he was standing in the hallway when we came in," she smiled sadly, "he was just over a year old at the time. We fell in love with him immediately."

                "How lovely," Imogen said with a smile. "He must know what an incredibly lucky boy he is," she said through her laughter as the four-year old climbed into her lap and began to play with a tomato in her salad. 

                "No, John and I were the lucky ones," Jill said. 

                "I should say so," Imogen managed as Gabriel was trying to feed the tomato to her, saying, "Eat Ruthie, eat."

                Imogen ate the tomato he offered her with exaggerated gobble noises that made him squeal with laughter. 

                "You know," she said, "I would be happy to watch him any time your regular sitter cancels."

                Jill crossed her arms and smirked. "Okay, how about right now? I can't get anything done in the office with him there."

                "That's fine," Imogen answered Jill, "As long as you don't mind sorting mail, Gabe."

                Gabriel jumped up and down in Imogen's lap shouting, "Sporting Mail! Sporting Mail!"

                "Well, then I'll be getting back to my desk." Jill stood. 

                "I'll have him back to you by five-thirty," Imogen said with a wave as Gabriel blew kisses to his mother's retreating form. 

***

                Ginny fought against tears. She had appeared weak too often in the past month or so as to make it almost shameful to her. She wouldn't cry now. She had to show everyone present that she could take care of herself. She appreciated it, but their fierce protection of her was not necessary. 

                She knew that Draco had not forgiven her and so made no illusions that he would when she saw him today. But she hadn't been prepared for his dramatic exit. It seemed to say all that there was left to admit between the two of them. It was over. He wanted nothing more to do with her. 

                "You have acted very bravely, Miss Weasley," Dumbledore added after she had finished recounting the last events of her captivity. She wasn't looking for gratitude or sympathy and so made no reply. 

                "Miss Malfoy's death was not your doing. It takes a strong person to have lasted as long as you did under their methods. I dare say it was difficult to hide your knowledge of her under the influence of such a high dosage of Veritas Serum. And even more of a miracle that you survived on top of it all."

                Ginny solemnly nodded. 

                As the meeting mercifully concluded, the Headmaster asked Harry to stay behind a moment. 

                Harry nodded as Ron and Hermione said they would wait outside for him and Ginny quickly hurried out without a word to any of them and disappeared down the hall. Harry held no illusions that it was due to her eagerness to return to class. 

                Harry remained seated and staring at the Headmaster as the door closed and they were left alone. 

                "I have something for you," the Headmaster said, a twinkle of his old self shone just below the surface of the world-weariness that now clouded his once youthful appearance. "Actually, two things," he amended. 

                "Firstly, I commend you on a burglary well executed. Ron, Hermione and yourself make a fine team."

                Harry furrowed his brow, unsure of what the professor had meant by this. 

                He brought out the ruby encrusted sword with the engraved name of Godric Gryffindor running up the blade. Harry nodded. Dumbledore was complimenting them on the job they did getting at his sword. 

                "It's rightfully yours, Harry," Dumbledore said holding the magnificent piece of weaponry out for him to take. 

                Harry did reluctantly stand and take the sword. 

                "And," Dumbledore continued, "Hagrid wanted you to have Fang."

                Harry looked down at the forlorn dog in front of the fire. He seemed sad that his master and friend was gone. They all missed Hagrid and felt his absence acutely. 

                "You may keep him in the castle if you like, that is, if you wish to keep him at all."     

                Harry's head snapped up from where he was lost in thought, staring at the sad and depressed hound. They were two of a kind, really. He felt a wave of gratitude toward the Headmaster for giving him Fang. Of course he wanted to keep him. 

                "Yes, thank you Professor," was Harry's stunned reply. 

                "Good. Everything settled then?"

                Harry nodded calling Fang to him. The Boarhound got lazily to his feet but wagged his tail energetically at him. 

                "You may return to class now, Harry. And thank you for sharing your story with me. I know it had to have been hard for you all. And I wouldn't for anything ask you to relive it if it wasn't important."

                "Goodbye Professor," Harry said and left the office with Fang and Gryffindor's sword. 

***

                Imogen sorted the Minister's mail while Gabriel lay sprawled on the office's carpeted floor, surprisingly quiet. His tongue protruded from his mouth with intense concentration as he set himself to the task of drawing Mrs. Milton a picture. 

                The Minister's secretary, Evelyn Milton, was enchanted by the adorable little creature and took on a rather grandmotherly air around him, where she was stern and official with most everyone else. 

                Imogen sat thinking distractedly about her last trip through the Pensieve with Ginny and the scene that they had witnessed. Ginny seemed to have been taken in by the details and had new resolve to tell the story that the Founders had never had the chance to tell themselves. 

                What Imogen found curious about the scene was Isaiah's need to have his father's sword back. Cost what it will, Isaiah seemed determined to the point of murder. 

                Indeed, had the others, Galahad, Maren, Mungo and Azria, not been present to defuse the situation she was sure that he would have killed Faramir, desecrating the wishes of his father that the sword remain with his squire. 

                If Ginny were going back into the Pensieve, Imogen wanted to go as well. She had an uncomfortable, uneasy feeling about this sword of Gryffindor. She didn't know what sort of consequences this curiosity would have. But then again, how could she have known what sort of trouble she would fall into and what sort of destruction she would help the wizarding world to avoid. 

                She was no divine seer like Ginny. 

                She relied on intuition only. 

                "Come on Gabriel," she said, placing the last of the mail in its appropriate spot and grabbing her bags. "It's time I got you back to your mother."

                Gabriel stood, handing her a scribbled up piece of paper proudly. 

                Imogen beamed as she looked at the nonsense picture he displayed and took it, placing it carefully in her cloak pocket, treasuring it and thanking her newest little friend. 

                She hadn't even known this kid for more than a day and already she had fallen in love with him. 

                He was such a little charmer, she thought with a smile and he followed behind her. 

                She had hold of one small hand and the other went to his mouth as he blew kisses to Mrs. Milton. 

                Downstairs, her good mood seemed likely to be shot to hell as she met an obstacle in the form of Roger Davies. 

                "Ruthie James," he said with a smirk, leaning back in his chair, "I knew you would be back. Can't resist me, can you?"

                Gabriel ran across the lobby and into his mother's office as Imogen leaned against Roger's desk and crossed her arms in front of her. 

                "Yes. I just can't sleep at night, I think about you so much. I want you. I need you," she said in a flat tone. She leveled her sage eyes at him as he laughed at her sarcasm. 

                "You still don't want to have dinner with me some time?" he asked, digging for some sort of positive sign from her. 

                "No, Roger. I don't want to have dinner with you," she replied plainly. 

                "Why not? What is it about me that you don't like? I can change. I would change for you, Ruthie James," he pleaded. 

                She laughed at how openly pathetic he was. She didn't have the heart to tell him that his efforts would always remain fruitless. Did he know that he was pursuing a fourteen-year-old girl in vain? 

                "I like mine with green eyes, Roger. I'm sorry," she answered with a smile. 

                "But I have lovely blue eyes. Everyone tells me how I remind them of Frank Sinatra," he smiled and raised his eyebrows. 

                "I somehow don't find that to be a logical connection."

                "Why not?" Roger said, leaning forward. 

                "He was famous for his beautiful eyes and yours are nothing remarkable," she answered pushing away from his desk and walking toward the large doors to the street. "Have a nice evening, Roger," she added over her shoulder. 

                "I'll wear you down Ruthie James!" he yelled after her, "You can't hold out forever. No one's resolve is that strong."

                "Let's see shall we?" she called and then disappeared out the doors and around the corner. __


	5. Later

Disclaimer: All the same legal stuff applies. 

Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to my cat Samuel L. Jackson. The best pet anyone could ever wish for. Now that I'm on a school schedule again, my least busy day looks like Friday. So you can expect regular updates on or around then. 

Reviewers: Linda: thank you for your always gracious praise. Thank your uncle for reading as well. I am very gratified to know that my work is comparable in anyway to the great Rowling. 

Oliverwoodsgirl: Thanks for sticking by me kid. You are one of my vintage reviewers and always have a piece of encouragement to throw my way. You're tops. 

Hibiscus: Thanks for giving me the time. I can't wait for your reaction later on in the story (as I have some pretty sorry attempts at courtroom drama for you to snigger at). Your dedication to my piece of fiction is well appreciated. 

Kim The Manipaltive Little Mo: My hopes are that this and many other chapters to come far surpass the last one. Thank you for the exuberant praise. You flatter a self-conscious writer. 

Paranoidchick 13: Your thoughts on Imogen and Ruthie are pretty right on. You are an astute reader. I hope that there are still some twists and turns that stump you (hopefully). I can't promise to stop the angst. It's the entire feel of my third story. But hang in there, you might find some resolve. 

Chapter Five

Later

_"I never thought you were a fool_

_But darling look at you _

_You gotta stand up straight _

_Carry your own weight _

_These tears are going nowhere baby_

_You've got to get yourself together _

_You've got stuck in a moment_

_And now you can't get out of it _

_Don't say that later will be better _

_Now you're stuck in a moment _

_And you can't get out of it…"_

_U2: 'Stuck In A Moment'_

                Harry, Ron and Hermione walked silently back to Transfiguration class with Fang trailing just as quietly behind them. 

                As they came through the door, Professor McGonagall was collecting pineapples from her students. Harry wondered mildly what they had missed. 

                Ron seemed relieved that he'd missed class altogether and Hermione fretted over the notes she would have to get from someone. 

                As McGonagall looked up and noted their entrance, she asked Ron to stay after. 

                "Great. What could I have done? I haven't even been here for five minutes," Ron whispered to them. 

                "We'll wait for you outside," Hermione said as she turned and exited the classroom. 

                "Come on, Fang," Harry said dully, following her out. 

                They weren't waiting for long. 

                Ron crashed through the door in a fury after a few minutes' conference with the Transfiguration teacher, red in the face and glaring pointedly at Harry. 

                "Well?" he said sharply, folding his arms in front of him. 

                "Well?" Harry repeated impatiently, scraping the sword of Gryffindor carelessly along the flagstone floor.     

                "When were you going to tell me?" Ron raged at an impassive Harry as Fang and Hermione looked confusedly between the two. 

                "Oh yeah," Harry said mechanically, "Ron, I quit the team."

                Ron was fuming even more at Harry's casual and uninterested air. This was his life. He lived for Quidditch. 

                "Oh yeah, I quit the team?" Ron spat back angrily. "Anything else you might be leaving out, Potter?" 

                "Er," he said, pretending to recall his meeting with McGonagall with some effort, though it was only a week ago and he remembered it perfectly. He was deliberately enraging Ron and he couldn't say why he was doing it. Chalk it up to his newly adopted self-destructive attitude. He didn't care if Ron was mad. That was his decision and he had already made it. 

                "I turned down the Captain's position?" He said it as if he were guessing. 

                "Yes, you did," Ron said. 

                Harry blinked, still doodling with his sword on the stone, "So, did she offer it to you, or what?" 

                Ron was visibly angered by this. He turned a few shades redder and took a deep breath to calm himself. 

                "What do you think?" he asked, moving threateningly closer. Harry didn't move, didn't flinch. 

                "I think she did. And I think you accepted," Harry said dully, "Congratulations, Ron."

                Ron couldn't control his fuming any longer and so turned on his heel and walked away, disappearing around the corner in the direction of the Great Hall. 

                "Are you certain about this, Harry?" Hermione asked timidly. 

                "No," Harry replied simply, "Are you going upstairs?" 

                "Yes. And then to the Library."

                "Take this up with you?" he asked handing her the sword, which she hefted with minor difficulty. 

                "Where are you going?" she asked and was going to add that he shouldn't miss lunch but he cut her off. 

                "Out," he answered cryptically. "Just throw it any where by my stuff. I don't care," he added regarding his sword. "Come on, Fang," he said, ruffling the fur between the dog's ears. 

                They left Hermione staring after them and disappeared out of the great oak doors at the entrance and into the sunlight of late September. 

*** 

                "You walked out." It was a statement—and not an entirely surprised one at that. 

                Imogen shook her head. 

                "Yes. I walked out," Draco said flatly, "Do you have anything new to add to the conversation or are you just going to sit there and repeat me?"

                Imogen said nothing, simply shaking her head as if he was a disappointment to her. 

                "I don't want to listen to people I hate explaining away my sister's death," he added crossing his left leg over his right, resting his ankle on the opposite knee. 

                Imogen stood and moved to stand in front of him, enraged by his casual tone. 

                She waited for Pansy Parkinson to slowly cross the common room and reluctantly head up the stairs to the girls' dorms. She stared at the pug-nosed seventh year in open dislike. She knew Pansy's curiosity would cause problems in the future with regard to Draco. 

                She was still living under the delusions that they shared some fictitious romantic interests. 

                Pansy disappeared. 

                Without warning Imogen's foot connected hard with Draco's shin, causing him to yelp in pain. 

                "You don't hate them and they're not responsible for Lucy's death!" She bellowed this, caring not if Pansy were still eavesdropping. She glared at Draco as he endeavored to form a reply, hands on her hips she looked funnily like a wannabe comic book super hero. 

                "What the hell do you know about it, Spencer?" he asked after a moment, massaging his shin with a furrowed brow.

                "You're being stupid. That's what I know about it. You know it wasn't Harry's fault and you know it wasn't Ginny's." She wanted so much to admit that it was in fact her fault. But that would cause a whole other batch of problems that she thought might wait for another day. 

                "Ginny gave her away to save herself," Draco began to protest. 

                "You don't know that, Draco."

                "She's never denied it."

                "Did you ever give her the chance to?" Imogen said with a defiant raise of her eyebrows. She stood in silence for a moment waiting for his reply that didn't come. 

                He wouldn't look at her. 

                "My point exactly." She collected her books from the sofa. "If you're looking for someone to blame, blame yourself and leave Ginny alone. She doesn't deserve all of your crap right now."

                She left the conversation at that and moved to leave the room. 

                "Where are you going?" Draco asked, standing and shoving his hands into his pockets. 

                "Don't talk to me. I'm mad at you and you've put me in a bad mood. I have to get to class now." She disappeared through the common room entrance. 

                Draco scowled indignantly. 

                It wasn't often that he was put in his place. But Imogen had given him a lot to think on. 

                He sat silently back down and stared into the glowing embers of the dying fire. 

                He came to the unpleasant realization that he would have to talk to Ginny sometime and determined that sooner was better than later. 

***

                "That's my tree stump," Harry said as he followed Fang down to the lake's edge. 

                Ginny was sitting there lost in a thought. 

                She looked up to see Harry and then eyed the tree stump that she sat on. "Did I miss that brass name plate that reserves this stump for you exclusively? I am terribly sorry," she answered sarcastically. 

                He sat down on the grass next to her as Fang began to explore the water's edge. 

                "Dumbledore gave him to you?" she asked, smiling as the dog endeavored to trap some unsuspecting tadpoles. 

                "Yeah. He said Hagrid would want me to take care of him."

                Ginny turned to look at Harry. He met her eyes reluctantly. "He adored you, Harry."

                "Who? Fang or Hagrid?" 

                She laughed. "Don't be obtuse. You knew I meant Hagrid." She paused for a moment and became very solemn and sad. "I miss him. He was my very first friend," she admitted quietly. 

                Harry looked up at her and smiled. "Mine too."

                They sat in silence a moment longer. 

                "I'm sorry about what happened this morning," Harry began, diverting his eyes to the lake and Fang splashing wildly in it. 

                "For what, Harry?" was Ginny's puzzled reply. 

                "He won't forgive you and I know it hurts," he paused for what seemed like an eternity. Ginny stared at the side of his face, as he wouldn't turn his head to meet her stare. He seemed to be debating something mentally. "He should be angry with me, not you. He asked me to watch out for her and I let them take her."

                Ginny shook her head. It didn't make any sense. He could not possibly think that Lucy's death should lie solely on his shoulders. If she hadn't been so weak, if she had only lasted a little longer, if only…

                Well, postulating the 'if only's' wouldn't bring her back. It wouldn't give them any reprieve and it wouldn't stop Draco from hurting. It did no good. 

                "That wasn't your fault either," Ginny said in a half whisper. She reached down and took his hand. 

                "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, Ginny. After I promised I would be a good friend—," he began again. 

                "Oh, Harry. You're one of my best friends. You were there for me. And you're here now. Doesn't that prove anything?" She leaned over and kissed his hand that rested in hers. 

                He looked up at her. "He doesn't deserve you."

                She smiled. "And I don't deserve you." She looked away across the lake. "You deserved way better. Did you love her?" she asked tentatively. 

                Harry shook his head uncertainly, squinting in the early afternoon sun. "Ron and Hermione have loved each other since they were at least twelve years old. Their relationship was built from years of friendship. I used to think that that was the only logical way that anyone could be certain that they loved someone.

                The waiting room was stuffy and I felt tense and jumpy waiting for the doctor to tell us that you would be all right. Finally, I couldn't take it anymore and I got up, looking for someplace to be alone—someplace that I could just zone out in and stare off at nothing in particular. 

                She was there in the cafeteria, causing some sort of scene with her house elf." He smiled at the remembrance. 

                Ginny laughed through tears that fell despite herself and she urged Harry to continue. 

                "I don't think I've ever seen anyone so beautiful. I imagine that heaven is full of people like her. I couldn't stop staring and she told me that it was rude. I think that I must have offended her. But it was her laugh, I think. It was like coming out of a deep and depressing indigo into sunrise. Without warning, it hit me. I loved her in that moment, I think."

                Ginny felt warm tears chasing themselves down her cheeks and she smiled through them. 

                Harry had never been poetic, but always honest and candid—that was what moved her. 

                Her heart broke with the realization that he had lost his only love. 

                He remained stoic and unmoving, though his hand was clasped firmly in hers. "I don't think you have to have known someone nearly all your life to know everything about them. I know she's never hated anyone and that she would give her life for someone she loved. It didn't even bother me when I found out minutes later that she was Lucius Malfoy's daughter. Nothing else mattered."

                He shrugged and stood. 

                "And I let her die. I don't know what keeps me from jumping over the edge—the fact maybe she'll come back to me. Impossible, I know." He looked down at his feet and rent a wildflower to pieces with the tip of his shoe. "Maybe I continue to live because it's a greater torture than dying."

                "Oh, don't say that, Harry," Ginny pleaded, wiping the tears from her face with the sleeve of her black school robes. 

                He made no reply, but squeezed her hand and then dropped it. 

                He turned and shouted to Fang in the water. "Come on, Fang. We've got to get to class."

                Ginny watched the two of them go. It was possibly the heaviest her heart had ever felt. It put her own problems and conflicts into stark perspective. 

***

                Two days later Ron was still fuming. 

                Hermione had left off playing devil's advocate as he would just explode at her and say that she was taking Harry's side with everything. 

                Now she had taken to ignoring him as he sat at the end of her bed ranting. She had told him several times that she needed to complete the reading for her Arithmancy lecture tomorrow, but his problems were always more important. 

                "And it was only offered to me after he had turned it down," Ron huffed. 

                Hermione had the fleeting thought that having her own room was a blessing. Head Girl perk. At least she was the only one Ron was disturbing. 

                She shut her book with an audible crack. She folded her legs under her on the bed and prepared herself for another long debate about Harry's motives and intentions. 

                "So what really upsets you is the fact that you weren't asked to Captain the team first?" she asked calmly. 

                "No, that's not what I—," Ron's attention was drawn momentarily from their discussion to the floor by the bed. "Are they hurting each other, do you think?" he asked in an unsure tone. 

                Hermione leaned over the side of the bed where she saw Crookshanks' head in Fang's mouth. He was spitting loudly as Fang growled playfully. They had been amusing themselves in this way for the past twenty minutes. 

                "No," Hermione shook her head, "They're just playing." To Crookshanks she added, "You enjoy fighting with Fang, don't you?"

                His head protruded from the dog's jowls and his once fluffy orange hair was sticking up in wild spikes gelled with Fang's slobber. 

                "No, it's just that I'm tired of his attitude," Ron answered, getting back to the point. 

                "What attitude is that, Ron?" Hermione asked stubbornly, straightening his tie and tucking it back inside of his school robes. She knew he hated the motherly attention, but she couldn't stand his unkempt appearance sometimes. 

                He didn't protest. 

                "You mean the attitude he's adopted since he's lost someone important to him and has given up a position that he didn't feel he would be able to perform to the best of his abilities. Instead he was honest enough to hand it over to you, someone he knew would do the best job and has the interest of the team in mind?" She raised an eyebrow defiantly. 

                He scowled. She was right. 

                "But now we'll have to find a new Seeker. We can't replace him. He's the best," he continued, his anger waning. 

                "Have you told him that?" 

                Ron said nothing. 

                "Maybe that's just what he needs to hear from his friend instead of the trouble you've been giving him lately."

                Ron looked down at his hands guiltily. 

                "Now get lost and don't bother me anymore. I need to finish my reading," Hermione commanded but diffused it with a smile. 

                Ron grinned and jumped up from the bed. "Thanks, love."

                "Anytime," Hermione said as Ron kissed her forehead. 

                "Hey Fang, let's go scare some Hufflepuffs," Ron said, beckoning the dog out of the room as Hermione laughed at the pair. 

***

                Ginny walked down the dark and dripping hallway wishing she knew where she was and also wondering why it was always so desirable for potions labs to be concealed in the secret bowels of some dark place. Wasn't that some sort of a cliché or something?

                She was looking for Imogen. Knowing that her interest was in fabricating wild experimental concoctions, she knew it would be easiest if her search began here. 

                She was urgent to talk to her about her newest idea. 

                She began to kick the idea around in her head of writing the story of the Founders—the one they never got the chance to tell themselves. 

                The only problem was that the information and scenes that the Pensieve allowed her to witness were sometimes cryptic or lacking the content that was essential to grasp the full picture.            

                She began to devise a wild scheme that involved Imogen's full support and expertise. She only hoped that Imogen would cooperate. 

                A noise behind her startled her and she felt her body stiffen before she laughed at herself. What was she doing? Did she think she was trapped in some cheesy 1930's horror flick? 

                "Way to overreact, Ginny," she admonished herself. 

                Then the noise persisted. Footfalls. Several. 

                She turned around only to be greeted by the sly smiles of Draco's thugs, Crabbe and Goyle. 

                "Lovely. You could perhaps tell me where Imogen Spencer is," she said with a smile.

                The hulking forms of the two Slytherins advanced on her and she backed away instinctively. 

                "No?" She asked raising an eyebrow, trying to discern their expressions. They both only wore their infernally evil grins. "Do you speak at all?" she asked frustrated. 

                "You're in Gryffindor," one of them said. She couldn't tell which. It was very dark. 

                "Yes, and you're in Slytherin," she answered. "Now that the pleasantries are finished, could you tell me—," she added nervously. 

                "Weasley's sister," the other said. "You're in the same year as Nan Maloney."

                "Actually it's Mallory," she corrected, becoming more impatient by the second. 

                "Whatever. She's a bitch but she's built very nice," one said. 

                "I'll pass the word along," Ginny said and made an attempt to get around the two. 

                "Where are you going?" the taller of the two grabbed her by the arm and prevented her passing. 

                "Really, boys. I have to be going. I'm looking for—."  

                "Yeah, Spencer. We know."

                "She's not bad either," the one commented to the other. 

                Ginny rolled her eyes. 

                "Don't you want to stick around and have a decent conversation with a pair of exceptionally handsome guys like us?" one grunted. 

                "I wouldn't go so far as to say exceptional," she admitted as they came menacingly closer. "But you both have nice personalities," she added hastily. 

                She heard the approaching sound of footsteps but the other two seemed not to have. 

                Great, she thought. That would break up this strange little soiree. She had no idea what the two of them were so interested in cornering her for, but it was becoming a little frightening. 

                "Wait 'till Draco sees what we've fished from the dungeons," one said. 

                "Yeah, Potter's little girlfriend," the other added. 

                Aw, now Ginny almost felt sorry for them. Did they think if they caught some unsuspecting student in the hallways for their ex-friend and leader, he would be eternally grateful and take them back as his mindless henchmen and bookends? It was almost sad. 

                She slowly fished around in her robes pocket for her wand when Draco came around the corner. 

                Jesus, she thought. Could this situation get any worse?

                "Crabbe, Goyle? What are you doing?" she heard him ask as he approached. 

                 The two of them jumped and turned. 

                He apparently hadn't seen Ginny there. She would rather prefer it that way. 

                He looked surprised when he did see her behind the two large boys. 

                "What are you doing with her?" he asked in a monotone. 

                Crabbe and Goyle exchanged unsure glances with each other and one of them answered. 

                "We caught her snooping around down here and—."

                "We were just having some fun with her. We were going to bring her to you."

                Draco laughed at this but quickly recovered himself. "What would I do with her?"

                "That's lovely," Ginny interrupted, "I'll just be going now." She moved out from behind the two of them but was caught again by the same bulky hand with a vice grip on her arm. These two were so damned persistent. 

                "Oh, we thought you would find some sort of amusement with Potter's girlfriend."

                Draco snorted unflatteringly with the effort to stifle his laughter. "That's not Potter's girlfriend," he said, "And I don't want her. You're not buying my friendship back at any cost. I'm done with you two."

                He looked briefly to Ginny who tried to jerk her arm out of Goyle's grip. 

                "So let her go," Draco said. 

                "Do you think you can just order us around like that?" Crabbe said defiantly. 

                "You're not Head Boy. You're not anything but an embarrassment to Slytherin and to your father."

                "You don't know what you're talking about, Goyle. So I suggest you shut up," Draco said with an amused grin as his former friend spouted his mindless dogma. "Let her go," he added simply, removing his wand and leveling it between Goyle's eyes. 

                "No," Goyle said with a defiant grin, twisting Ginny's arm and causing her to cry out. 

                She was infuriated to be used as leverage. She kicked hard at his kneecap and heard a satisfying snap. He released her and fell to the ground, cradling his injured leg and groaning. He intermittently swore and called her unflattering names. She marveled at his imagery and vocabulary briefly. 

                Draco silenced him and took the other out of commission with two well-placed hexes. 

                As Crabbe joined Goyle on the dungeon floor with an audible thud, Draco asked, "Are you all right?"

                Without a word, she turned and walked away down the hall. She didn't wish to be ingratiated to him for anything. And she didn't want his sympathy.  She could take care of herself, goddammit!


	6. Damn You

Disclaimer: I only claim to own my characters (some of which I have killed off already). Everything else belongs to Rowling. The plot is mine. 

Author's Note: I dedicate this chapter to Andria who never liked Draco and Ginny to begin with. Why are you still reading my crap then? Yep, not exactly sure. But, I think that the Hippocratic Oath is an American thing—oh well, I guess I've shone my colors now (not that use of words like _sweater haven't given me away previously). _

Chapter Six

Damn You

_"I think it's getting to the point where I can be myself again_

_It's getting to the point where we have almost made amends _

_I think it's getting to the point that's the hardest part_

_If you call I will answer_

_And if you fall I'll pick you up_

_And if you court this disaster I'll point you home_

_I'll point you home…"_

_Barenaked Ladies: 'Call and Answer'_

                Harry shrugged and kicked his shoes together as he sat in an armchair across from Ron and Hermione. They both sat on the end of Hermione's bed staring at him expectantly. 

                "I think it's gone to the best person, Ron. Really," Harry said slowly. 

                "But Harry, you should have been Captain of Gryffindor this year."

                Harry sighed and explained patiently again, "I'm not on the team, Ron. I don't want to play this year. I just want to get this year over with and leave."

                "Leave where?" Hermione asked. 

                "I don't know. Mexico maybe."

                Hermione shook her head. Any reproach she might have been forming at that moment was interrupted by Ginny's entrance. 

                "Where have you been?" Ron asked, eyeing his sister suspiciously as she walked across the room and sat on the arm of Harry's chair. 

                "Nowhere. Walking. Why do you want to know?" She asked, a little hassled by his questions. She shrugged off her sweater and threw it on the floor at her feet. 

                "Why Mexico, Harry?" Hermione continued. 

                Harry laughed slightly. "I don't know. I wasn't serious. I just said the first place that popped into my head. What happened to you?" he asked Ginny pointing to a dark bruise on her upper arm. It was ringed in yellow and it looked as if it were at least a week old. 

                Ginny shrugged pulling her sleeve down and frowned at Harry. She knew he had projected the negative attention of his friends onto her and she would not be the happy recipient of it. 

                "Just a bruise," Ginny answered. 

                "Just a big bruise," Harry added, being difficult. Does he like being the shit starter, Ginny wondered? "Whose ass have you been kicking lately?" he continued.

                "Crabbe and Goyle's if you must know," Ginny said straight faced. 

                The looks of the other three seemed to say that they thought she was kidding. 

                Ron was the first one to speak, "Are you serious? When was this?"

                "Ron, don't make a big deal out of it," Ginny said while she shot Harry a sarcastic look of thanks for bringing it up. 

                "I will make a big deal out of it because it is a big deal. Did they hurt you?" Ron continued urgently. 

                "No. One of them grabbed my arm, Goyle I think. And then I broke his kneecap."

                "Good for you," Hermione encouraged and Harry laughed. Ron did not seem amused. 

                "Come on. It wasn't a big deal, Ron. They were being jerks and so I kicked one of them and Draco took the other one out."

                "Malfoy was there?" Ron asked abruptly, visibly angered at this revelation. "Ginny, I thought you said that was over. I don't want you anywhere near him." He was beginning to yell now. 

                Ginny was angry as well. She stood and snatched her sweater from the floor and stormed out of the room without another word. 

                After she'd left, it was Harry that came to her defense. "Ron, don't be a prat. They're not together or anything. I don't think she even talks to him anymore. He was probably just passing by and saw that she was in trouble."

                "You really need to go easier on her," Hermione added. 

                "You two always do this," he raged, "you always ally against me." He walked out leaving Harry and Hermione shaking their heads after him. 

***

                Flipping through his Transfiguration book, Harry exhaled heavily. He was growing to resent school. He wondered where he would ever need to apply the knowledge of transfiguring fruit into fruit flies. Who would want to really?

                "You know that it's rude to ignore someone when they've been trying to catch your attention for over twenty minutes?" Harry's heart leapt at the question but was mildly disappointed when he looked up to see Imogen Spencer standing over him with her hands on her hips. 

                "Sorry," Harry began weakly, "You know you could have just come over and sat down. That would have gotten my attention."

                She did sit down and threw a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ on the table in front of her. 

                "Wow. It's been…what…two years?" Harry asked, closing his Transfiguration book. 

                "Yep, I was away last year. You know, after what happened at the end of second year," Imogen smiled, warming her dark featured face. Harry had remembered that the last time he saw her was in the cells of Azkaban. 

                "You look good, older. I mean…" Harry felt stupid. He didn't know what to say to her. This was the girl that he had fancied briefly before he'd met Lucy. He had to confess now that he hadn't thought about her since then. 

                "So, what have you been up to?" she asked with a bright smile that lit her sapphire eyes. 

                "Nothing. Going to school is about it."

                She nodded her head, knowing he was being cryptic on purpose. 

                His eyes averted to his closed textbook. He felt a little guilty about how standoffish he was being. She didn't deserve it. But he didn't exactly want to talk about what had occupied him this summer. He wasn't exactly proud of his involvement in the happenings in Ireland last summer. 

                "What have you been doing? Where were you last year?" he asked instead.

                "I attended school in France. Beauxbatons."

                Harry was slightly surprised by this. "Oh really? That was where Ginny went to school last year. You know Ginny Weasley, don't you?"

                Imogen shook her head. "Yeah. I saw her in France, but I didn't really know her well enough to talk to her."

                "So does that mean you know how to speak French?" Harry asked with a smile. Talking to her about nothing at all was somewhat therapeutic. 

                "Oui. Je parle francais. Je pense vous etes un ange," she said in a beautiful accent. Harry found himself stunned as he watched her pronounce the words elegantly. He couldn't help a smile from spreading across his face. He didn't know what she said but he was sure that he was blushing. He looked down with embarrassment, not wanting to meet her eyes. 

                "I'm sorry," she continued in English, "did I offend you? Do you understand French?"

                "No, I don't. But if you won't tell me what you just said I'll ask Ginny," he answered, gaining the courage to meet her eyes again. 

                It was her turn to blush and she did profusely. "Oh, no! Don't do that. I would be too embarrassed!" she pleaded. 

                "Did someone just say my name?" Ginny asked coming up behind Imogen, who froze wide-eyed. 

                Harry smiled slyly. "Don't worry, Imogen. I couldn't repeat what you said if my life depended on it. One day you'll just have to admit what you meant."

                If Ginny was confused by the stares and smiles that transpired while she stood there, she didn't give any inclination. "Harry can I borrow her for a few minutes?" she asked. 

                Harry nodded. 

                Imogen furrowed her brow as Ginny pulled her from her seat in the library by her arm and out into the hall. She didn't even hazard a look back at Harry. 

***

                "Oh thanks!" Imogen said, "I almost incriminated myself in there."

                Ginny shook her head, distracted. She hardly even registered Imogen speaking. 

                "Come on," Ginny commanded, taking Imogen's hand and pulling her after her and up to Gryffindor Tower. 

                Ginny almost jumped as she entered her room and met the cold glare of her roommate Nan.

                "What's this?" the tall blond girl said with a smirk, "can't find any real friends and so you have to drag some unsuspecting little Slytherin girl after you? I know you don't pay her for friendship? What is your incentive to hang around this train wreck, then little Slytherin girl?" Nan's eyes were leveled at Imogen. 

                She didn't even see Ginny whose fist connected squarely with Nan's jaw. The blond went flying head first over her bed. Her feet sprawled comically in the air. 

                Ginny straightened her robes and turned to Imogen. "I never liked her."

                Imogen laughed. "Quite a week you've been having, Gin. First Goyle and now this chippie. You're my hero, you know."

                Ginny winced, "How did you hear about that?"

                "How do you think?" Imogen raised her eyebrows. "Now what did you want me for?"

                Ginny rushed over to her desk and pulled out the Pensieve. Imogen was busy checking on Nan in the corner—unconscious. 

                "I think we'll just leave her like that for now. She's fine."

                Ginny set the Pensieve between them. 

                "I've been thinking. I want to write their story, the Founders'. But, the Pensieve doesn't give enough information on it's own." Ginny stopped and bit her lower lip. 

                "What're you thinking, Ginny?" Imogen asked tentatively. 

                "I want to go back there," she said firmly. 

                "With the Time-Turner?" Imogen added, exhaling heavily. "You know that's illegal and it would take a good amount of Dark Magic to make it work, right?" 

                Ginny nodded gravely. "Of course. I knew you wouldn't want to."

                "Oh no! I want to. I'm not sure if I can perform the necessary spells. But I'll see what I can do. I'll work on it in all of my spare time." Imogen sighed inaudibly. She didn't have much spare time, but she would use what she had to help Ginny. 

                "I was going to have another look and see what I could find. Did you want to come along?" Ginny asked brightly. 

                Imogen glanced at the unconscious form in the corner and said, "Hold on a second."

                She walked over to Nan's crumpled form. "_Ennervate" _she said as she pointed her wand. Nan woke up and got unsteadily to her feet, Imogen's wand trained on her at every move. 

                Imogen moved sideways to the wardrobe by the window. She opened the door. "Get in!" she commanded the stunned girl with a swollen cheek. 

                Once Nan was crammed inside the small space, Imogen threatened, "I'm going to shut you in because there are some things we need to tend to without your juvenile antics. Just to warn you: if you try to escape or if you decide to cry to your Head of House about how we've wronged and abused you, I am a veritable dictionary of disfiguring and painful spells and I won't hesitate to hunt you down and try a couple." Her voice was calm and measured and Ginny was slightly frightened. She could only imagine how much more heightened Nan's sense of fear must have been. 

                "Thank you for your cooperation," Imogen added, closing the door of the wardrobe and locking it with a secure charm. 

                "Now. Where were we?" Imogen asked brightly, replacing her wand and coming to sit on the floor next to Ginny. 

                A moment later they were in a sort of village. Imogen and Ginny could see horses everywhere. Imogen had never seen so many horses in one place before, now that she thought about it. 

                They could smell the acrid stench of a tannery nearby and Ginny covered her nose with the sleeve of her sweater. 

                They both made a cursory scan of the crowds. They were looking for Azria or Helga. Either one of them had to be around—as it was their memories that Ginny and Imogen were looking at. 

                It must have been the day of a festival or a tournament—some sort of commotion as to fill the marketplace with the populations that they were witnessing. Imogen found it hard to believe that the market would on normal days be this crowded. 

                Ginny nudged her and their suspicions were confirmed. Azria walked silently through the crowds a few paces ahead of them. She stuck out awkwardly because the clothing she wore marked her as a gentlewoman and not a merchant or peasant. 

                She came to a small hut, a lean-to next to the inner wall of a castle. Imogen didn't recognize this castle nor did she see any of the inhabitants of the humble living space. 

                It must be an opposing castle to Hogwarts. It would, of course, in modern times be a ruin hidden deep in the Forbidden Forest. The river (now condensed through damming and re-damming its flow into the lake on the school's grounds) would have divided this castle from that of Hogwarts. It was the property of the Hufflepuffs' at the time, as well as the much larger Hogwarts castle. 

                They both jumped as they heard Azria, who had gone inside of the hut, scream. Imogen and Ginny didn't hesitate, they entered immediately. 

                Imogen was sorry that she had acted so rashly. Had she known what sort of a sight would meet her eyes she would not have gone inside. 

                Two small children, barely recognizable lay in the hay in a corner, maimed and lifeless. Two adults, a wife and mother, and a man—maybe the father, lay just as lifeless near the door. They looked as though they weren't shown the courtesy that the children were. It looked as if it had taken them a long time to die. The children had wounds of instantaneous death. 

                Azria was crying and shaking, screaming all the while. No one seemed to hear her, or at least they paid no attention. 

                Imogen looked to Ginny who was nearly as bad. She was mute, shaking her head, tears streaming silently down her face. Her hands were twisting and clenching methodically at her sides. 

                "Ginny?" Imogen asked, placing a tentative hand on the girl's shoulder. Ginny didn't respond. 

                Imogen wondered how this was all pertinent. She would like to know who these people where and what Azria's business was with them. 

                Ginny was right. Going back there might be the only way that they could truly piece this whole thing together. This thought was solidified as Imogen followed Azria out of the hut. She wanted to know where the seer would go next. 

                Only Azria just stood there in the doorway of the makeshift tomb—staring. 

                Imogen's breath caught painfully in her chest as she followed Azria's gaze. She felt chilled to the bone in a sort of bloodless cold that overtook her every movement, every thought. 

                A monk in a brown cowl appeared in the doorway of a side exit of the bustling castle bailey. 

                He lifted his head from what appeared to be a position of penitent prayer. Only when Imogen saw the face, she knew it belonged to a man that had never before prayed in his life. 

                Lucius Malfoy. 

                Her one fleeting thought was, "How on earth could he have been there?" She thought maybe she was seeing something else, someone else. It couldn't have been who she thought it was. 

                The entire scene dissolved around her and she found herself next in a dimly lit bedchamber. Ginny was standing next to her. But she was still silent, staring at the spot where she had seconds before been staring at the murdered forms of two children. 

                Azria screamed again and sat bolt upright in her bed, huffing and panting heavily. 

                She held her head in her hands and began to weep softly. 

                Imogen was not relieved in the least that it had all been a dream—especially because it had been the dream of a seer. 

                The moment after that brought them out of the Pensieve. 

                "Are you all right, Imogen? You look pale?" Ginny asked, bringing her out of her thoughts. 

                "Did you see that?" Imogen asked her breathlessly. 

                "Those poor children? Yes, I wish I hadn't."

                "You didn't see the monk though?" she asked Ginny, confused. 

                "No."

                "I'll do it," Imogen said finally after a moment's thought. "I'll make the potion to set the Time-Turner back to the time of the Founders. I'll get back to you in a week or so."

                "Imogen are you okay?" Ginny asked again, nervously eyeing her small and frightened friend. 

                "I'm fine. I've got to get going. Let her out of there will you?" Imogen said quickly, pointing to the wardrobe and their captive within.

*** 

                Draco like wandering the school at night. He new that if he were caught he would get into a whole lot of trouble. That was the main appeal, he guessed. 

                His favorite haunt was the armory. Not so grand as it might once have been, the armory was more like a large ceremony hall. It was cold and devoid of any furniture. On racks and hooks along all of the four walls hung fantastic Medieval weaponry. Huge broadswords and maces, lances and battle-axes were displayed in all their grandeur. Some weapons dating to later ages also remained among the dusty and unmolested treasures of the forgotten room. 

                Here he found a particularly nice rapier, gold and intricately carved along the hilt. It was very light and perfect for his style of fencing. He came here to practice every night that he had the chance.               

                It was a lot easier to move around at night now than it had been years ago. Filch was pulling double duty as both keeper of the school and grounds as well. He was not often lurking in the castle as he had been prone to do in the past. 

                Draco was thankful for his absence tonight because he had a lot on his mind, a lot to decide on and a lot to think over. Imogen had given him cause to think on his treatment of Ginny. He had intended to seek her out and apologize for his harsh treatment of her. He knew that it was unfair the way he had placed the responsibility for his sister's death on her. 

                When he had finally found her, Ginny looked as though she wanted nothing to do with him. He'd even helped her when Crabbe and Goyle had attacked her. He was caught in the uneasy feeling that maybe Ginny didn't want his apology, didn't need it. He had assumed that she was just waiting around for him to forgive her and now he was met with the realization that it might be too late. He'd pushed her too far. 

                He felt himself calm as he felt the cold metallic sting against his hand. The castle was always cold in early October. 

                He set about methodically going through a routine of motions, practiced and refined. He moved with the grace of a cat and with as much cunning and skill. 

                He couldn't repress the words of his father in his head. Years of his instruction had ingrained them into his mind. "If you want to kill a man, it is the element of surprise—catching him off guard will bring you this." He would always get some far off look in his eye and sigh like a lover, "There's nothing better in the world, my son, than the feel of a blade slicing through the entrails of someone you loath."

                What a sick bastard. And yet, Draco could understand how one could derive immense pleasure from killing. Draco would have liked nothing better than to have killed Goyle last week when he'd hurt Ginny. The only thing that restrained him was her presence. He wouldn't have her look at him that way. The way his mother had of looking at his father. She had dismissed everything for him. She loved him truly. 

                But he was a murderer and worse. He didn't deserve her. 

                Draco still had the chance. He could still endeavor to deserve Ginny, though the thought seemed far off and intangible. 

                He sighed and lunged again with newfound fury. He was a contradiction in terms. He was unsure of what he wanted. His fear was ever present. He could still feel his father's corrupt grip on him. He was drilled into being his father. He was schooled in the ways of killing and of torture. 

                Yet he still attained to something greater, something he never would have thought he might deserve. Ginny still loved him. He was certain of it. 

                "You're getting sloppy without the proper instruction," an icy voice echoed on the cold stone walls. 

                Draco stopped and turned to meet his father's cold gray stare. 

                "Don't you miss me, Draco?" he said with a sly grin. 

                Draco was motionless, speechless. 

                Lucius walked slowly to the wall where he pulled down another rapier and saluted Draco. 

                Draco didn't move. 

                "Where have your manners gone to, son?" Lucius said with a mocking air. 

                Draco was expressionless, "It was you? Wasn't it?" He blocked his father's swing as he advanced. 

                "What was me? Really. Have I taught you nothing? You speak like a common street urchin. And your technique in fencing is worse. "

                "You were in the manor that night. You bastard! It was you who trashed Lucy's room," Draco raged, parrying expertly as his father took that moment to strike. 

                "You are too damned sentimental, Draco. I assume that was your mother and your sister's influence over you. Well, they're both dead now. Move on. I have bigger plans for you," he smiled as he blocked Draco's advances, "Don't you want to know what they are?"

                "No," Draco answered shortly. 

                "Of course, I couldn't let you in on everything. You still have a lot to do to prove yourself. You have a lot of trust that you need to earn back yet." Lucius said in an overly fatherly tone. 

                Draco shook his head and seethed inwardly. 

                "Why do you insist on me? I don't want any part of you…any part of your schemes."

                "That truly hurts, child. Everything I have done, every plan, every scheme was for you. To make you happy, successful. You could have anything you want."

                Draco clenched his jaw shut with anger. "Why?" he asked through gritted teeth. "Why me? Why not Lucy? She was your child too."

                "She was never like me. I couldn't rid her of her sympathy, kindness. I couldn't even beat it out of her. You are more pliable," he answered with a swing of his blade that Draco ducked. 

                "I'm not like you!" Draco raged, bringing his sword down angrily at his father, ungracefully. He began to advance, trying to slash with both downward and upward movements. He wasn't being careful. He wanted to kill. He hated his father. Being like him was the worst thing he could possibly be. 

                Lucius laughed at Draco's anger as he parried, blocked and ducked every advance. Pleased to see the anger rising up in the young man's face. 

                "Oh, but you are," he said. 

                Draco shook his head disbelieving. The more he thought about it, the more weight his father's words had. He had been manipulated by him. He knew that it was true. 

                He was a useless carbon copy, fashioned in Lucius' image. He wasn't a son to this man but a ridiculous and wrenching experiment in egotism. It was a twisted self-worship and a deranged narcissism. 

                Draco's rage wound beneath his skin, growing like black vines that twisted and choked his heart, ate at his dreams of a better life, strangled his chances of being happy, like an evil veil of ivy that constricts a dying tree. 

                "I will never be you!" he raged, lunging at his father. He felt the satisfying friction as his blade tore through the skin of his father's shoulder. A superficial wound, but gratifying to have caused even the slightest pain. 

                The hilt of Lucius' sword connected squarely with his son's head at the base of his neck. Knocking him to the ground and into a state of unconsciousness, Lucius kicked the prone form of his son onto his back and off of his shoes. 

                He clasped a hand around his injured shoulder. 

                "You will be like me in time," he spat before he turned and exited the armory the way he'd come in, leaving Draco to spend the rest of his night in a heap on the cold stone floor. 

*** 

                "Can we talk?" Draco asked a startled Ginny, accosting her as she came around the corner from the library. 

                Pansy Parkinson was lurking on the other side of the hall, pretending to be engrossed in something out the window. She met Draco's eyes briefly and Ginny looked confusedly between the two of them. 

                "Bugger off, Parkinson!" Draco bellowed, causing the pug-faced girl to jump slightly before scampering off down the hall and out of sight. 

                "Draco, I don't know if there's really anything to—." 

                He cut her off impatiently. "Fine. Then will you just hear me out?" He was rubbing what looked to be a very large bump on the back of his head. 

                "What happened?" she asked, surprised at the severity of the wound. She threw all pretense out the window and moved closer to him, examining his head and neck gently. 

                He had the worst feeling of suppressed longing as she moved closer to him. He wanted to remain this close to her forever. But it would never be possible. There was too much between them to be forgiven that easily. 

                "You should let Madam Pomfrey look at that," she said, recalling herself awkwardly and stepping away. 

                "I did." He gingerly moved his neck around and winced slightly. "Speaking of…why aren't you volunteering in the infirmary anymore?"

                "I thought that would be a bit ridiculous," Ginny admitted, biting her lip nervously. "You know, trying to kill myself," she didn't meet his eyes, "three times," she admitted sheepishly. "And, well, I was responsible for more people than just me. The Hippocratic Oath and all. 'Do no harm'. I just don't think medicine is the right path for me."

                "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

                "Well, thank you for your vote of confidence. Who asked you anyway?" She began to get loud.  

                "Even more stupid then getting yourself trapped down in the dungeons with Crabbe and Goyle. What were you thinking?" Draco yelled in turn. 

                "I can handle myself, godammit!" she raged, stomping her foot and getting red in the face. They began to draw a crowd. 

                "You didn't look as though you were being very successful at it."

                "Well, I don't need your help!" She turned and began to walk away.

                "That sure wasn't what it looked like when he grabbed you and you screamed. You were pretty thankful for my services then, weren't you?" he called after her. 

                She let out an indignant cry and hurled a heavy textbook at him. She had perfect aim. 

                But he had perfect reflexes. He ducked as the book flew over his head and into a suit of armor against the wall. The loud crash of metal caused Madam Pince and Mr. Filch to come running. 

                "What is the meaning of all of this?" the librarian asked, hands on her hips. 

                Neither Ginny nor Draco said a word. 

                "You're both getting detention for this. I just polished this statue and knocked all of the dents out of it. You think I have all the time in the world to spare walking around after students picking up their messes?" an enraged Filch shouted. 

                "It was my fault, sir," Ginny argued timidly. 

                "One cannot fight alone, Miss Weasley," Madam Pince chimed in, looking pointedly at Draco. 

                "Everyone clear off!" Filch shouted wildly. Students scattered. 

                With one last glare of disdain, Madam Pince returned to the peace of her library. 

                "You two follow me," he said after a moment to the guilty pair. 

                "Damn you!" Ginny half whispered. Her face was a muted mask of un-emotion. 

                "What did I do?" Draco asked indignantly. 

                "You ducked!"


	7. Through The Mill

Disclaimer: I have a Star Wars Trivial Pursuit board game and a mean memory. Everything else belongs to Rowling and associated companies. 

Author's Note: This chapter I dedicate to Michael Crichton whose _Timeline_ was an inspiration for this chapter and to Sara whose editing skills make this story as clean as possible. Check out her awesome story about a Death Eater spy whose reparations for past actions bind her to the fate of a boy whose father she's killed and ultimate sacrifice to a cause that had never accepted her into its folds to begin with. Read Soupofthedaysara's _The Book of Jude_. I promise that it's better than anything you'll read in my portfolio. 

Chapter Seven:

Through The Mill

_"You think I only think about you when we're both in the same room_

_I'm only here to witness the remains of loving you_

_You think we're here to play a game of who loves more than who_

_You think it's only fair to do what's best for you and you alone_

_You think it's only fair to do the same for me when you're not home_

_I think it's time to make this something that's more than only fair_

_I'm warning you, don't ever do those crazy messed up things that you do_

_If you ever do I promise you_

_I'll be the first to crucify you_ __

_It's time to prove that you came back here to rebuild…"_

_Barenaked Ladies: 'Call and Answer'_

                Detention was served out the week leading up to Halloween. It was dark and deserted in the Great Hall, the ceiling above mimicking a swirling indigo with pinhole stars. 

                This would be a very romantic setting, Ginny mused, if she wasn't bent over on her hands and knees scrubbing the entire stone floor with a tiny scrub brush while Draco looked on, scowling. 

                They had been condemned to scrub the entire floor without the aid of magic. So far Ginny had been at it for half an hour and Draco hadn't so much as lifted a finger. 

                "Are you going to go back to medical school someday?" Draco asked, shattering the lasting silence. They hadn't spoken since they got here. 

                "I don't know." Ginny stopped scrubbing and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. She smiled to herself and then started to giggle. "Do you know who was the first person to encourage me to think about medical training?"

                "No. Who?" Draco asked, sitting down on the cold stone floor next to her. 

                "Percy," she looked up and smiled. "He said I had a knack for it. I would fix him up after Fred and George had got to him. They did some pretty evil things now that I remember it. One time I remember it was so serious that he almost lost a finger."

                Draco raised his eyebrows, "Really?"

                "Yeah, but he was always a good sport about it though. He never got too upset."

                Draco paused for a while. Staring at Ginny as she bent to work again, he considered asking her more. He longed to hear her voice, to have things like they were before all of this shit started. 

                She looked up briefly and glanced at him, saw that he was staring at her oddly and smiled self-consciously. 

                "Do you miss him?" Draco asked tentatively. 

                "Yes, all the time," she admitted in a quivering voice. 

                She busied herself with a particularly tough stain on the grout and Draco was afraid he'd made her cry. She stopped suddenly and looked at him, discarding her scrub brush in the bucket of soapy water. She pulled her knees into her chest and she sat there, thinking. 

                "Don't you miss Lucy?" she asked finally.

                "Terribly," Draco said. 

                "I remember the last thing that my brother said to me was that he was worried about me and that I wasn't eating or sleeping enough. He was always on to me about something," she said examining her hands nervously. 

                "And that bothered you?" Draco asked, "Sounds to me like he was just being a big brother."

                "No, I always loved his annoying attentions. He was always the first one to know when something was going on with me." 

                "It sounds like he adored you," Draco offered. 

                "Like Lucy adored you," Ginny said. 

                "Hmmm. I'm not so sure. I think she was mad at me toward the end," he admitted, his attitude growing visibly more rigid. 

                "When?" Ginny asked, furrowing her brow. "What happened?"

                "She wanted to know why we were leaving Paris in such a hurry. I was worried that she might become involved in whatever was going on. I didn't want to scare her and so I said nothing about you. She got angry and so did I," he paused and swallowed hard. 

                Ginny had to fight the urge to touch him. He would probably spurn her affections if she offered them. 

                "The last time we spoke was when I yelled at her. I would give anything to take that back now," he was staring off at the floor but almost past it as well. His eyes were focused on nothing in particular. 

                "I am so sorry, Draco," she said in a nearly inaudible tone. 

                He didn't seem to hear her. 

                Then, without warning he spoke again. "I know you are."

                Ginny felt tears trickle down her cheek and wiped them away quickly. She didn't want him to see that she was crying, didn't want to appear weak—though weak was what she was—too weak to stand up to them. She'd taken Lucy away from him and she would never forgive herself for that. 

                "I would have gladly taken her place," he whispered, closing his eyes and exhaling. He looked up at the ceiling alight with autumn stars. 

                "Sometimes I think I could have stood up to more," Ginny thought aloud. She hadn't known that he'd heard her until his gaze snapped quickly back to her with surprise. His eyes were wide open and questioning. 

                "What do you mean? I thought they threatened you. Did they do more than threaten? What happened, Ginny?" he asked urgently. "Tell me," he pleaded. 

                Ginny had gotten to her feet. She couldn't speak. She hadn't meant to mention that. She didn't want him to know. 

                "I can't."

                "I want to know. Ginny, all this time I thought you had given her up to save yourself," Draco's voice faltered. He wasn't quick enough to get to his feet. 

                Ginny pulled out her wand and performed the charm that rendered the floor of the Great Hall spotless (though they had been forbidden to use magic) and raced out. 

                "I can't tell you, I'm sorry Draco," she apologized before disappearing. 

                Draco cursed and kicked the bucket with little grace. Soapy water splashed onto his shoe and he cursed again. 

***

                "Were you ever going to say anything about this? Or were you planning to keep it from me forever?" Imogen's voice was cold and accusing as she heard the key slide into the lock and Arabella appeared in the doorway shortly after that. 

                "What are you going on about?" Arabella asked, breathless, setting her armloads of shopping on the kitchen table. "I'm cooking tonight," she added brightly, dismissing Imogen's question, "Italian."

                Imogen got up from her spot on the sofa and threw the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ she'd been examining on the table in front of Arabella. 

                The older woman stopped and stared. The front page bore a rather pathetic looking picture of Peter Pettigrew behind bars. She looked visibly stricken by the image on the page but quickly recovered. 

                "Is that today's issue? I haven't had a chance to read it."

                "Were you going to tell me? It says his trial is next month. Does he have a chance?" Imogen began to cry. Arabella moved around the counter in the kitchen to put an arm around her. Imogen spurned the contact, her eyes brightening with anger. 

                "It's my fault. He won't get off…and…it's because of me."

                As if anticipating Imogen's thoughts, Arabella said firmly, "You are not to visit him." 

                Imogen looked up, wildly enraged by this. 

                "You're in my custody, don't forget. And I forbid your seeing him." Arabella's tone was firm and unwavering. 

                "I have to. I have to say something to him. I have to explain," Imogen raged at her guardian. 

                "No. You can do no more for him. It's better this way. If I hear word from the prison guards that you've been to visit him…just remember that you're in nearly as bad a position as he's in, Imogen. I'm the only thing keeping you out of that place."

                Imogen bit her lip and snatched the paper from Arabella's hands. "I'll be in my room. I'm not hungry." She slammed the door across from Arabella's room with an audible bang. 

                The older woman just looked after her and shook her head. "Teenagers," she sighed, pouring herself a well-earned glass of wine. 

                Imogen employed herself wisely in the privacy of her room. She had nearly completed the adjustments on the Time-Turner. 

                If Arabella knew what she'd been planning to do behind her back…a smile of complete defiance spread across her lips. Sometimes it was hard to stay humble when you knew you could run circles around all of these people. 

                The Dark Arts text that she took from Lucy's laboratory sat opened on her bed. She checked it against the mixture that she'd made. Everything looked to be in order. She bit her lip as the danger of what she'd been doing came suddenly back to her. She could land herself and Ginny in a whole load of trouble if they were found out. 

                Time-Turners were supposed to be strictly regulated. Hers happened to be issued her by Arabella so that she could both attend Hogwarts and work at the Ministry as well. It was not traceable by Ministry standards. However, she knew clearly the sort of repercussions that would follow if anyone found out about their time-traveling stint. She was already walking a fine line between freedom and Azkaban and she had no illusions about where she would end up if this all went the wrong way. 

                She snapped the text shut and shoved it to the bottom of her trunk, along with Lucy's potion notes and her own. 

                It was complete. 

                She placed the Time-Turner around her neck and under her collar. 

                Tomorrow was Saturday. She and Ginny could get started then. And she could find out just what Lucius Malfoy's business with the Founders was. 

***

                Ron was already in a bad mood. He was the newly appointed Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, something he'd always wanted to be. And yet, it was going to be very different without Harry there. He was the oldest member of the team. He'd been there since his first year, whereas this was only Ron's second season on the team. This should have been Harry's position, Harry's team. The fun of it all was sucked right out. 

                He dragged his broom sulkily behind him as he made his way down to the Quidditch pitch. Today was the try-outs for their new Seeker. The team was already assembled and ready to begin. He was late and they were waiting on him. Out into the sun, he had to squint slightly before his eyes could adjust to the change. 

                He saw the lines of hopefuls forming and he thought grudgingly that they would have to settle for one or another of these losers. He wished he'd been able to persuade Harry back onto the team. 

                "Weasley, can I have a minute?" he heard from behind him and cringed. 

                Malfoy. He didn't have the time or the patience to deal with him today. 

                "What do you want? Can't you see I'm busy?"

                "Yeah, you've got to pick some retard to take Potter's place. That shouldn't be too difficult," Draco said with indifference. 

                "I suppose you think you're better?" Ron turned to engage him, forgetting for a moment that he had someplace else he needed to be. 

                "Hell yes I do. I haven't played for the team in two years. But there are probably several players out there that can handle Slytherin's newest, O'Connor. He's an idiot."

                "You're holding me up so that you can talk Quidditch with me?" said Ron, shaking his head disbelievingly.

                "No. But don't worry. Potter is replaceable." Draco smirked and shoved his hands into his pockets as he watched Ron seethe. 

                "Right. I'm leaving now," Ron said and turned to walk away. 

                "I need to ask you something about Ginny," Draco said a moment later, causing Ron to start and then redden with rage. He waved for Dean Thomas to start the try-outs without him and turned back to face Malfoy. 

                "Stay away from her." Ron had a white knuckled grip on his broom handle. 

                Draco decided to get to the point before he caused another scene and wound up in detention again. "Did she ever tell you what had happened to her?" he faltered slightly. 

                Ron's raged ebbed as he looked around the entryway of the castle. "Yeah. I figured she'd never say anything to you. Come on," Ron said, walking down the hall and into an empty classroom. 

                Draco waited a moment until Ron had closed the door and lit the room with his wand. "But you know, don't you?"

                "Yes, I do." His façade was still immovably rigid. "But she won't tell you, will she?"

                Draco looked down at the floor. He was growing angry with Ron and his evasive conversation, but egging him into a fist fight wouldn't get him the information he wanted to know—or would it?

                "She's weak. At the first threat of danger, of harm to herself, she gave up an innocent person. Lucy didn't deserve to die. And she wouldn't have if it hadn't been for _her_!" He spat the last part with fabricated contempt.

                Ron was reddening and breathing heavily. He was angry—and rightly so. 

                "You fucking bastard," Ron said, restraining himself from hurtling across the room and wrapping his hands around Draco's throat. "She held out as long as she could. She almost died. Her veins were pumped full of Veritas Serum. Do you know what that stuff does to the human immune system?" 

                Draco shook his head slowly. It was horrifying. He knew exactly what Veritas Serum could do. But he didn't let on that he did. "So they drugged her a little. I would have thought that being a Gryffindor and all it would have taken more than that." He was cold and indifferent, but it was an act. His heart was sinking with the realization that he'd been holding Ginny responsible for a death that was not her fault in the slightest. He was surprised, knowing now what she'd gone through, that she hadn't died herself. She was possibly the strongest person he'd ever met. He knew he couldn't stand up to that much. 

                "That's not the half of it," Ron continued, his eyes boring into Draco. "She had marks of several curses. Would you care to guess which ones?" Ron was being slow and methodical. He knew Draco's real reasons for wanting to know about Ginny. He was not stupid. He felt that his sister was way out of Draco's league, and maybe he could still talk some sense into her. But he couldn't have Draco thinking that she didn't give a good fight for Lucy. He knew how much Ginny had grown to love that little girl. She tortured herself enough for what had happened to her without Draco jumping to the wrong conclusions. 

                Draco sank down into a nearby seat as Ron watched in a mask of stony hatred. He was getting the idea now just how much she had endured to save his sister. And he had been angry with her, furious at her for having caved. 

                Ginny spent the week leading up to school in a hospital bed, next door to Dumbledore. Ron hardly ever left her side and held her as she cried. She hated herself because she hadn't been able to give a better fight. She'd said she'd lost Draco's trust forever. He hated her. 

                Ron had the greatest urge to inflict harm on the slightly smaller boy sitting in front of him. He wanted vengeance for all of those tears that Ginny had cried for him. He didn't want to give him the chance to hurt her again. 

                "She's been tortured enough. Leave her alone. You'll never be good enough to deserve her," Ron said finally, flinging the door of the classroom open and leaving Draco there alone, to think on his words. And Ron knew that he was right. Draco knew it too. 

***

                "A few very important ground rules," Imogen said, tugging Ginny behind her, past the Quidditch pitch where tryouts were underway. Past Hagrid's lonely hut and to the edge of the forest Imogen pulled Ginny with speed and purpose. 

                "Like what?" Ginny said, clamoring to keep up with her friend. 

                "Firstly, no magic that hasn't been invented yet."

                "How will we know what has and—," Ginny began confusedly. 

                "If you are unsure, then don't use it. I know for sure that Aparating is out of the question, particular healing charms, etc. We don't want to introduce new magic into history. I'm not sure that time paradoxes exist, but it's better to be safe, you know." Imogen released Ginny's hand momentarily to climb over a large root protruding from the ground. It was getting darker the further into the forest they plunged. 

                "Time paradoxes?" Ginny asked, grabbing Imogen's hand again. 

                "You know, I want to kill my grandfather so I go back in time and AK his ass. But if I had killed him then my father couldn't have been conceived and neither can I. So I can't go back in time to kill the bastard. Time paradox."

                "Does that really work?" Ginny asked. 

                "I'm not sure. But I would have loved to try." Imogen smirked silently to herself. 

                "You hate your grandfather?" Ginny said. 

                "No. I would have liked to kill him though."

                Ginny chanced a sideways glance at her companion. "You're sort of scary sometimes. Were you aware of that?" 

                Imogen only laughed. 

                They trudged on a bit further until they came to a clearing in the dense wood. The trees here were smaller. They had a noticeably smaller circumference at their base. Skinny stalks shot up from the confinements of a ruined castle wall. One large guard tower still stood, ivy climbed along the stone masonry. 

                "Oh wow. What is this place?" Ginny asked. 

                "Don't you recognize it?" Imogen said as she surveyed the place with a smile. It was enchanting. 

                "Should I?" Ginny asked confused. 

                "We were just here last week. It's the Hufflepuff castle. The smaller one that opposes Hogwarts across the river."

                "River?" Ginny asked, occupied in surveying the remaining stone structure. 

                "Yes," Imogen informed her. "Where the lake is now. There used to be a mill across it, at its most powerful point. But it's gone now. I don't know what has happened to it. And this," she made a sweeping gesture toward the ruins, "is all that's left of Hufflepuff's first castle."

                "First? You mean this one is older than Hogwarts?" Ginny asked. 

                "Yep." Imogen was removing some folds of what looked to be linen and felt from her bag slung over her shoulder. "Put this on." She threw some of the garments to Ginny who took them and surveyed the uncertainly. 

                "What are these for?"

                "You have to blend in. These will be status neutral. You won't look too rich or too poor. Hopefully we will be able to observe the place without anyone becoming suspicious of us."

                "Wow. You really have done your research for this little outing," Ginny marveled at the strange clothing. 

                "Well, it will be easy for the ministry to catch us if two girls in modern clothing suddenly show up in historical documents, don't you think? That's why it's important to use as little magic as possible. Unless you know it exists this early on, leave it." Imogen began to don her costume. "It's my Time-Turner and my ass on the line if anything happens. Try to talk to people as little as possible. You may be able to understand them on your own but this will help." She placed a charm on Ginny, touching her wand to her head. "A translating charm. It works for dead languages as well. But it can't help you if you need to speak. Do you speak Old English? Norse? Celtic languages?"    

                Ginny shook her head fervently. She was becoming visibly worried. 

                Imogen smiled. "Neither do I. This should be fun."

                "Why are we doing this all in the forest?" Ginny asked as Imogen adjusted her dress for her. 

                "Because, this castle houses the market place. Hogwarts is mainly a defense and treasury right now. It would look better if were appeared at the market place. More people—less of a chance that we will be noticed. We have three hours. I've set the Turner. We need to be back before dark."

                "Why?" Ginny asked.

                "Do you want to be in this forest at night? I don't"

                "Okay," Ginny said, exhaling loudly, "let's do this, let's fuck up history irrevocably."

                Imogen smiled and took her Time-Turner on its fine gold chain and placed it around both of their necks. She turned it once and they forest seemed to blur and then vanish. 

***

                Ginny felt a little disoriented when the world came back into view. Only the world that came into view was nothing like the one she'd just left. This one was noisier, bustling. She was in the midst of a market instead of deep inside of a tranquil forest. 

                "Come on, Gin." Imogen was removing the thin gold chain from around her neck and placing it securely inside of her robes. 

                They stepped out from behind a tanning vat and Imogen warned, "Careful. That's lye. It'll burn like hell if it gets on you."

                "It's already burning like hell," Ginny said rubbing her eyes with her fists. 

                Imogen held her nose but didn't say anything. The sooner they were away from that smell the better. She couldn't fathom the tolerance that these people built up from years of working around this stuff. It was horrid. 

                They skirted a few sinister looking knights in green and silver and ducked down a back alley. They came to a lean to bearing the wares of a potter. 

                Three children were playing around out front. One of the boys wasn't even big enough to walk. He was constantly under the attention of a watchful older sister. The other boy ran forcefully into Ginny's knees, causing her to double over, catching herself by throwing her hands out. The boy was dark haired and mischievous looking. He smiled and blinked innocently, clinging onto the stunned Ginny. 

                Imogen was more interested in the other boy—the baby and his sister. She was unremarkable, about Imogen's age or perhaps a bit younger. She was dirty with ragged clothes and un-brushed hair, pulled back from her face in a knot. She looked suspiciously between Imogen and Ginny before standing and pulling the older of her two siblings from Ginny's leg. They both had raven black hair and hazel colored eyes. 

                The baby seemed eerie to Imogen. Like she'd seen him before, or someone like him. He had lighter hair than his brother and sister and dark brown eyes. But she knew he must have been related to the two of them. She heard the girl referring to him as "brother". 

                She shook her head to bring herself back to her original purpose. She motioned to Ginny and they both turned up the side street and away from the hut. 

                "Did you see that?" Imogen asked in a whisper. 

                "Yes. They were too adorable. But I don't think their sister liked us much."

                "Don't you recognize them? The girl? And the boy that ran into you?" Imogen was becoming slightly agitated by her recognition of them. 

                "No."

                "The last scene from the Pensieve. The two older children, they were the murdered children in that hut."

                "Oh, no!" Ginny said, looking back over her shoulder. "Can't we…" she trailed off knowing full well that they couldn't save those children. Their future had already been foretold. There was no saving them. 

                "Ginny. We aren't supposed to be here. We can't just change history like that. It would change the course of the future." Imogen seemed distracted by something else. 

                "How?"

                "If they are living when they weren't supposed to have lived, their children, children's children, etc. could have a drastic effect on the outcome of future events." Imogen talked slowly, looking back at the hut every so often as if she expected to see someone else. 

                "Yes, I know. But those poor children, their poor parents…" Ginny looked miserable. 

                "But what about that little one?" Imogen asked as they turned down another street and passed a cooper at work. 

                "That little boy with the lighter hair?" Ginny was thinking. "I don't think he was there when the others were killed. At least, I didn't see him there."

                "Then where do you suppose he was?" Imogen said in a conspiring tone. "Do you think someone took him?"

                Ginny shrugged. 

                Imogen stopped and held out a hand for Ginny to stop as well. From a side door in the inner bailey, stepped a monk with his head bowed following obediently behind an enchantingly beautiful woman of no more than eighteen or twenty years old. Her hair was the color of corn silk and her robes were of rich green velvet. She had a dangerous air about her. A lethal beauty that seduced the unsuspecting and devoured them. 

                The man concealed under the monk's cowl wasn't easily seen, but the telltale platinum blond hair was just visible under the hood. It was Lucius Malfoy.

                "That's Eowyn Slytherin, Salazar's daughter," Ginny whispered. 

                "Recognize the monk?" Imogen asked. 

                "I can't see him. He's hidden under that hood."

                "Let's follow them," Imogen suggested. She and Ginny fell in step behind the two, inconspicuous among the throng of people in the market, keeping a distance of about a hundred and fifty feet. 

                As they pursued them outside the castle walls, both Ginny and Imogen stopped in awe. Imogen could hear Ginny's sharp intake of breath. 

                Eowyn and the monk walked down to the river's edge, a wide and snaking river that disappeared into the mountains at the very edge of their sight. Some parts of the river were wild and churning with rapids. At the greatest and most powerful of these rapids stood a massive stone bridge with two separate buildings perched on top of it. Four water wheels churned underneath of the formidable structure producing the power for the mills' operations. One of the buildings was made of stone, two or three stories tall. 

                "What goes on in there?" Ginny asked pointing to the stone building that both Eowyn and the monk had just disappeared into. 

                "I dunno. It could be for iron working or anything. That one there is a flour mill," Imogen said pointing to the second of the buildings, a low wooden one at the far end of the bridge. Hogwarts dominated the landscape on the opposite side of the river. 

                "Let's go," Ginny said, heading for the stone building on the bridge. She was apparently as interested in seeing what these two were up to as well as Imogen was. 

                Inside the stone structure of the mill bridge the sound was near deafening. On the first floor, hammers pounded on anvils in an ear-splitting clang. It was, in fact, an iron working mill. The hydraulic power of the water wheels was the force behind the bellows and powered the hammers. Imogen was in awe. As an amateur historian, everything she saw fascinated and delighted her. 

                "Which way?" Ginny yelled, covering her ears and squinting against the racket. 

                Imogen pointed to wooden stairs in the corner. 

                They went up to the second floor. Nothing. 

                As the ascended the stairs to the third floor, the deafening noise subsided greatly. 

                They hung back in the stairway as they heard low voices in the room just ahead of them. Imogen held her finger to her lips. Quiet. Ginny nodded in agreement. 

                "And how is my army coming along, Lucius?" Eowyn's silky voice floated through the steamy air of the mill. 

                Imogen furrowed her brow. Army?

                "I have control of the mill. They will be well armed. I am anxious to wage my battle. I want them dead." Eowyn seemed excited. What was she demanding of him? And what was he asking in return? Imogen knew this man. He did no favors. 

                She peeked around the corner slightly. She could see both of them. Eowyn seemed effortless in her manners and charms. Imogen almost snorted. That was one man that couldn't be seduced. He was too inhuman for that. 

                "All of your weapons will be meaningless if there is no army to use them. You get no army from me until I get what I want," Lucius replied in an even tone, matching her grace note for note. 

                Eowyn appeared frustrated by this but covered it with a smile. "Lucius, my father died six months ago and took all of his secrets to his grave with him." She was visibly angered by what she had to admit. "He told me nothing."

                "Find out. I want that child. Wherever he is. He is the key," Lucius bellowed. 

                Imogen realized that she was not waiting for the translation spell to come through She was actually listening to their words. They were conversing in an archaic form of French. She understood it well enough without the translation. 

                She suddenly jumped as she heard a scream from behind her. Ginny. 

                She whirled around and reached for her wand in time to see a rat scurry away under the floorboards. Ginny had a hand clasped over her mouth, her eyes wide with terror and the realization that she had accidentally given them away. 

                "Who was that?" Imogen heard Lucius ask in the most agitated of tones. 

                "Spies. That wretched Gryffindor, he's sent someone to watch us," Eowyn surmised. 

                Not quite true—but very bad all the same. 

                "Maurice," Eowyn commanded. 

                Apparently they had stationed a guard at the door for that very reason. 

                Imogen heard the heavy footfalls of a large man as he neared their hiding place. 

                "Run!" Imogen mouthed, pushing herself away from the wall and following Ginny down the stairs with all the speed that she could muster. 

                As they rounded the corner to the stairs and onto the first floor landing, Imogen chanced a look back and found that their beefy pursuer was closing the distance between them. 

                Ginny crashed through the door, the sound muted by the infernal beating of the iron hammers. Out into the sun, Imogen squinted against the glare of the water a hundred feet below them…or more. Just ahead she saw the flourmill and a daring idea popped into her head. 

                "Ginny, head for the flourmill."

                Ahead of her Ginny nodded and kicked the door in. Imogen glanced over her shoulder and saw their pursuer coming through the stone building and out onto the bridge after them. 

                Imogen still had her wand out—at the ready. She was sure that this spell had been around ages before now. It was one of the oldest and simplest of spells—first year magic. 

                The ground floor of the wooden building was soaked through with rotted planking from years of water splashing up from the water wheels just below. Two giant wheels rose and fell with the power of the river's currents. The entire room smelled of mildew. There was a fine yellow powder in the air that never seemed to land. The grinding of grain took place in the upper levels and was sent down a shoot to the ground floor where it was sacked for sale. There were no open flames in this building as the dust from grinding was highly flammable. Thus the mill was only in operation during daylight hours. That was also why it was a wholly separate structure from the other mill for iron working—which needed blast furnaces to heat the metals. 

                "Ginny, grab onto one of the water wheels." 

                Ginny looked terrified by the suggestion. 

                "Trust me. It's not that far down."

                Ginny looked down into the opening where one of the massive wheels churned the water below the mill. She tried to time her breathing with the rise and fall of each of the wheel's paddles. She grabbed out and missed the first one. The second paddle came around and she reached out and closed her eyes. The current powered wheel turned and she held on, feeling it take her out of the mill and into the icy water. She let go when she made contact with the water, as not to be dragged under and up again with the wheel. The current whisked her out from under the bridge and out into the sunlight. 

                Imogen saw Ginny successfully catch onto one of the wheels. She was out of the mill. Imogen stood beside the other wheel as her predator inched slowly closer, leery of her wand. He didn't appear to have a wand. Was he a Muggle? Of course, it was typical in these times to have a mixed society. The confines of the wizarding world were not as rigid as they have become in the future. Despite what popular opinion said, Imogen knew that the societies of the Middle Ages were much more cosmopolitan. 

                "_Inflamarre mill_," Imogen shouted. She aimed her wand at the sacks of grain behind the hulking man that was moving closer to her. He was wearing a smirk on his face that left Imogen with no illusions as to what would happen to her if she allowed herself to be caught. 

                The flour ignited easily, distracting the guard for a moment. It was just long enough a distraction for Imogen to grab onto the rising paddle of the water wheel and to be carried out of the mill and into the river below. 

                Moments later she felt the white hot heat as the mill above her exploded. The dust in the air was ignited by the spark she'd enchanted. Splinters of wood and projectile debris pelted themselves at her in the water. She saw men running frantically toward the fire in an effort to put it out before it spread. 

                Imogen felt her scalp burning and blinked madly as hot fluid dripped into her eyes. She felt as if she couldn't move her neck. She lay there, being carried downstream by the forceful current, afraid to move. Had she been paralyzed? No, she could make small circles with her neck though it afforded her nothing but pain. 

                "Imogen!" She heard Ginny calling after her. She didn't chance the movement of turning to see where the voice had come from. She heard splashing and thought Ginny might be swimming out to get her. It was the whinnying of a horse that changed her mind. 

                Backlit by the sun, she couldn't decipher the figure that had rode out into the water, separating her from arrows that began to splash down into the water around her. 

                She felt herself being hauled lightly onto the saddle in front of her rescuer and then all went black. The last thing she remembered thinking before the blackness crept in was, "We've totally fucked this one up." 


	8. Burdens

Disclaimer: The characters, places and situations of the Harry Potter series are the property of JK Rowling and other associated companies. The original characters are the property of the author. 

Author's Note: Just a reminder that the characters from 1352 are my originals. They are the children of the founders of the school and have been introduced before (The Road To Nowhere). I owe most of my knowledge of the Medieval society of England to _Timeline _and its author Michael Crichton. 

Thanks To: Hibiscus: I know you still have some catching up to do but I wanted to thank you anyway for your review—I love the slobbery kitty too. They were inspired by my aunt's cat and dog in Michigan. I wrote that chapter at the time and I guess I just liked them so much I wrote them into it.

Paranoidchick13: Don't worry. Draco and Ginny will come to an understanding soon. 

Kim The Manipaltive Little Mo: I will update weekly now that school's all settled. Expect a new chapter every Friday, or around there. So now you don't have to wait as long. Sorry. 

Linda: I love the affirmation! You really have a way with making people blush. Thanks, doll. 

*A great big thanks to Oliverwoodsgirl whose story I am editing. Your patience is rock-solid, even when I screwed up. Thanks for letting me get my act together and for not firing me as your beta. Read this insightful story and her other clever works here on fanfiction. I know she would love the reviews. 

Chapter Eight

Burdens

_"Empty again_

_Sunken down so far _

_So scared to fall_

_Might not get up again _

_So I lay at Your feet _

_All my brokenness_

_I carry all of my burdens to you…"_

_Jars of Clay: 'Much Afraid'_

                Ginny bit at her lip nervously and snatched secret glances at the man who was bandaging the torn skin of her palm. Her stomach lurched as she saw him inspecting the scars of her failed attempt at suicide and the curious stripe across her palm just above her newest injury—a brand, marking her for her service to the Dark Lord.

                Charitably he said nothing of this and continued to work in silence. 

                As he tied off her bandage he surveyed her with a calculating expression, much like Ron did when he was trying to discern a lie. 

                "Why do you stare at me thus? You are like a frightened child. You observe me in secret but cannot look at me directly," Mungo Hufflepuff asked, his penetrating stare forcing Ginny to be candid. 

                Ginny bit her lip again and stared at her bandage, playing with the edges unconsciously. 

                "Take care with that wound, you do not want it to scar." After a moment's thought, he added with a wry smile, "Or maybe you do. You seem to be a collector of scars."

                "Why not?" Ginny admitted in a weak voice. "At least they remind you—," she trailed off thoughtfully. 

                "Remind you of what, Virginia?" 

                "Of the past. That's something that will always be with you, like scars."

                "You have many scars in your past?" Mungo asked with a curious and openly sympathetic smile. 

                Ginny must have been gawking because she made him blush and look away. 

                "Your mind wanders. Where does it go?"

                "Oh," Ginny said. It was her turn to blush, but it was an embarrassed blush. "I'm sorry. You remind me so much of my brother," she admitted with a nervous smile. 

                "And you my sister," Mungo added with a smile to match hers. 

                A moment later Ginny's smile faded and she swallowed hard. "Is Imogen awake? We don't have long. We have to get back."

                Mungo nodded slowly. "She is still asleep. Azria is with her." He noticed Ginny's expression as she half flinched at his sister's name. 

                It was just one of those unexplainable reactions. Ginny was so sure that she'd wanted to meet them, her exceedingly intriguing ancestors. Now that she was here, she had come to a sort of realization and she didn't like what it had shown her. They seemed free from the worry and care that she had carried around for so long. It must be terribly easy to commit your future heirs to a task nearly impossible to achieve (they had achieved it—killing Voldemort—but at great sacrifice). The three chosen had no idea what they had sent her, Harry and Lucy into. How did they know if the task could be pulled off or not? 

                Ginny had become angry. 

                They were delighted to see her, realizing who she was. They'd had so many questions for her—Azria and Galahad to be specific. Mungo was her only solace in that he shielded her from the curiosity of the others. He had seen her distress and anger regarding them.     

                She said nothing and might have even glared at them, she couldn't recall, she had been half drowned at the time. 

                "Walk with me, Virginia. I have a wish to show you something," Mungo said, standing and proffering a hand which Ginny took warily. 

                They walked silently into the sunlight. From the smaller and older of the two castles, the one that in modern times was a ruin in the Forbidden Forest, she could see and hear all of the sounds of a market. Mungo walked along a narrow road, heading out of the confines of the castle wall. Ginny followed silently and obediently.         

                "Judging by your reaction to the queries of my sister and of Galahad, I suspect that you have succeeded in the task?" Mungo began tentatively. 

                Ginny clenched her teeth, biting back a sarcastic response. Sarcasm was probably lost on these people. Instead she opted for ignoring the question and a quick retreat. "I have to get back to Imogen. We have to get home. It looks late."

                "Please, Virginia." Mungo placed a gently restraining hand on her shoulder. 

                "You don't understand. None of you do. Are we just some bloody servants to you? Is that what we are? You care only about you stupid task. He's dead. There are no more Slytherin heirs. There. Go back and tell your bloody friends the good news. And let me go!" Ginny was red in the face and she felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She scowled. It seemed to help suppress the tears. 

                Mungo looked around horrified. "Hush. Lower your voice. The Slytherins still exist here and are much feared."

                "I will not. You don't know what you've asked of us. We're torn apart. Emptied out. Maren's heir, Lucy, she died for your stupid task. She was helpless and they killed her right off. Harry, Faramir's heir, has been hunted all of his life, his family was taken from him. He's killed for you. They gave more than you bargained that they would. You don't even know them and yet you sold their souls for some unseen, far off prophesy. You're all dreamers. Visionaries. You've fucked with our lives without the smallest idea of how irreparable the damage has been."

                Mungo blinked and shook his head. "I…I am sorry, Virginia. I know that it must have been a difficult objective to reach, but you have managed. You have saved your world."

                Ginny rounded on the man who looked like Ron, anger flashing in her eyes. "I would have him back. I would have Voldemort back and ruling all of us if it meant that Lucy would still be alive and Harry could be happy. I don't give a damn about Dark Lords or the end of the world. I don't give a damn! You are all so unbelievably selfish. You sit here in your plush world, your sickening feudal society planning for us to do what should have been your task."

                "Virginia, you are making little sense," Mungo began. They were now at the solitude of the river where less people would hear Ginny's ranting but Mungo still looked nervous. 

                "I'm making every bit of sense," she pointed to the battlements of the stone structure on the mill bridge. Across the bridge the flour mill still raged, ablaze in the waning sun of the late afternoon. Ginny pointed at two figures standing on the battlements in deep discussion. Eowyn Slytherin and a monk. "You could end all of this now. Why don't you kill her?"

                Mungo, who looked regretful to have to say it, hung his head and admitted, "It gets more complicated where she is concerned."

                Ginny bit down hard in frustration, she felt the bitter taste of copper in her mouth. She'd bitten her lip too hard. "Complicated?" she echoed. "Complicated? I wasn't meant to be captured and used to get to Lucy. Lucy wasn't meant to be used as bait to get to Harry, the one person who could destroy Voldemort—the one person who's tried in every single way to destroy him. He's used me, he's killed Lucy, he's killed Harry's parents! Fuck you and all of your _complicated issues. It seems very simple to me." Ginny's words were furious and she hissed like a venomous reptile. She felt she couldn't hear anymore excuses. She had to leave. _

                "I wish I'd never come."

                "Why did you?" Mungo asked in measured tones. 

                "Because of that monk," she pointed once again to the mill and the two figures. Mungo was now staring at the hooded figure with interest. "But I guess your beloved seer never mentioned him. Perhaps she hasn't seen him either. Perhaps you're all just frauds. I've got to go."

                Ginny turned and headed toward the castle and up to Imogen. Mungo made no effort to restrain her, but instead headed slowly in the direction of the mill, never taking his eyes from the two figures. 

***

                "Ah, you are still with us." Azria neared the bed where Imogen had just stirred and pulled herself into a sitting position. "I am Azria. I have been taking care of your injuries. Galahad said you had quite a fall. 

Imogen sat up straighter in a surreal-like alertness. Was this really the woman that she had seen in the Pensieve? If so, then Imogen had a multitude of questions for her. The beautiful woman came and sat next to Imogen and stared at her for the longest moment. Imogen felt uncomfortable and transparent under the gaze. It was as if Azria new all of her secrets. She had many. 

                "There are two people that I am eager for you to meet, that is if you do not object," Azria continued hopefully. 

                Imogen blinked a few times to clear her vision. She nodded her consent. 

                Azria stood and retreated to the hallway. She came back moments later with Galahad and Maren. Both were wearing hunting clothes and carried broadswords. Maren had a bow and quiver slung over her shoulder. 

                Imogen smiled. Maren was the person that she'd been particularly interested in seeing. She seemed to break all of the frustrating women's stereotypes of the times. In most cases it was illegal to dress as a man, yet she did it openly. Imogen admired her. 

                It was Galahad who spoke first. "I am glad to see you are better. But I must know why it is that the archers on the tower were shooting at two small girls in the river. What is your business with the mill?"

                "We had no business with it. We blew it up."

                "Yes, we saw that bit," Maren chimed in with a wry smile. 

                Imogen looked fleetingly at Azria who seemed to urge her on with her kind smile and piercing eyes. "We were following someone."

                "Eowyn?" Maren offered. 

                "But what of her? What was your business with her?" Galahad seemed to eye her with suspicion now. 

                Azria interceded by saying, "She has no business with Eowyn, Galahad. Listen to yourself. It is always the conspiracy you are looking for, is it not?" 

                Maren moved to place a hand on Galahad's arm, always keeping an eye on Imogen, seeming almost as suspicious of her as he was. 

                Imogen was becoming indignant. She was not helping Lucius Malfoy nor would she ever. She didn't exactly know Eowyn or her interest in him, but she would never aid anyone who was collaborating with him. 

                "I'm not helping them. That monk you saw her with, he is from our time. Any interest he has in Eowyn Slytherin can't add up to anything good." She bit her tongue. She shouldn't have said that. She hardly knew these people and they all seemed to want to think the worst of her. Why should she admit anything?

                "I know you did not have anything to do with them. I have been watching him since he appeared here in the mid of last week." Azria looked to a stunned Maren and Galahad and continued to explain. "I have seen him in dreams. They are making an exchange of some kind. I know not what that might entail as of yet."

                "And she is not an agent of his?" Galahad said, placing his cobalt eyes questioningly on Imogen again. 

                Azria smiled. "No, she came with my heir who is now with Mungo. And she has sacrificed much for our cause as well. She was involved in the destruction of the Slytherin heir. She is no traitor." Azria looked to Imogen and smiled wryly. She knew!

                Imogen couldn't keep her eyes from going wide with surprise and panic. How much did she know?

                "I see you know of which I speak, child. Tell me, why do you hide thus? This is not the look you were born with. Why disguise yourself? What  have you to fear?"

                Imogen couldn't find her voice for a long time. Finally she spoke, "It's not out of fear but out of obligation that I hide. I need to look after my family, protect them, and the others that I care about. It is because of them—," Imogen stopped and looked up as Ginny crashed through the door of her room looking hassled and impatient. 

                "We don't have time to waste. The Time-Turner was only set for three hours," Ginny said, walking past the others as if she hadn't seen them. 

                "Virginia, what has you in such a state?"

                "Come on. Can you stand?" Ginny said to Imogen, ignoring Azria and the curious stares of Maren and Galahad. 

                "Of course I can. What's going on, Ginny?" Imogen asked, as startled as the rest by her peculiar behavior. 

                "Nothing. We need to get back is all." Ginny helped Imogen to her feet and then turned to Azria, "Mungo has all of the answers that I'm sure you are all so eager to learn about the last of Slytherin's heirs, etc." She looked fleetingly at the others and gave a sarcastic smile. "It's been a real pleasure. Bye."

                Without a word, Imogen slipped her fine gold chain around the two of them and they were gone. 

                "Galahad, Maren, retrieve Faramir. I wish to tell you all something of the curious little raven-haired companion of my heir. She is not who she claims to be."

                Maren and Galahad gave identical curt nods and departed on their task as Mungo came through the doors looking harrassed. 

                "Sister, I must speak with you at once about our two visitors. I will explain their destruction of the mill and more."

                "For the good Lord's sake, Mungo, what is it?" Azria said, with mounting apprehension. 

                "Eowyn plans something. Her mysterious companion that they have been following plans a merging of the two worlds in grand scale war of some sort," Mungo began breathless. He stopped and looked around him for an instant. "Where have they gone? Virginia and the little dark-haired one?"

                "They left. They had to get back to their own time. I am glad you have come. I have some interesting news to impart regarding that little friend of Virginia's and you can tell us all your news about Eowyn."

                "You should not have let them go, Azria. We need them."

*** 

                "Well, I don't see what you're all up in arms about?" Sirius threw up his hands and shook his head. 

                "It's all right there, Sirius," Arabella raged holding a copy of the _Daily Prophet in front of his nose and pointing to the front page article. _London Orphanage Siege: New Dark Order Responsible? Seven Dead, Forty-three Missing. __

                "Yeah. Since when have you relied on the _Prophet _as an informed and truthful source, Bella?" Sirius raised an eyebrow and folded his arms incredulously in that way that infuriated Arabella. 

                "He's got a point, Bella. You are starting to sound a bit batty," Jill pointed out helpfully. 

                "You stay out of this. Since when are you on his side anyway?" Arabella snapped, slamming the paper down on her desk and falling heavily into the chair behind it. 

                "Since he started making more sense than you, dear," Jill replied and then smirked as she realized the full oddity of the statement. "Gabriel, dear, don't do that. I'm sure Mr. Corbin wants his files just as he had them before he left." His mother rushed over to the desk that he was systematically destroying. 

                "Where are you two going tonight? Two month anniversary or some nauseating shh—," Arabella began to say but looked warily in Gabe's direction and changed her wording, "shlup like that?"

                "Right, some shlup like that. We're just having dinner and it's nothing special if you want to come," Jill laughed at her friend's ridiculous censorship. 

                "What and miss yet another lovely evening with the always moody and cross Imogen Spencer? More door slamming, yelling and/or ignoring, blaming me for her unfortunate life?" Arabella said, kicking her feet up onto her desk. 

                "Did I just hear my name mentioned?" Imogen asked, walking in from behind Arabella who began to laugh. 

                "Yes, dear. Singing your praises as always," Arabella lied as Imogen glared at her and threw her coat off. 

                "Oh and now it's my turn," Imogen began brightly. 

                "Go ahead, love. We're all ears," Arabella offered as Imogen picked Gabriel up and sat behind Corbin's desk with the small boy in her lap. 

                An owl flew in from the window, a large tawny one with yellow eyes. Clicking its beak, it announced that it had a letter. Jill took it as the bird immediately alighted and disappeared. 

                "It's for you, Sirius," she said, handing him the envelope and returning to the war-like banter of Imogen and Arabella. 

                "You can't cook," Imogen said with an elegant raise of her eyebrow. 

                "I've never seen you lift a finger, Miss," Arabella countered. 

                "That doesn't mean I can't. I am an excellent cook," Imogen crossed her arms in front of her indignantly. Gabriel mimicked her and glared comically at Arabella who couldn't help but laugh at the pair. 

                "Cook-off tonight, then," Arabella challenged. 

                "Name your vice, old lady," Imogen growled. 

                "Mexican."

                "Deal."

                "Wait. Imogen, I thought you were watching Gabe for me tonight?" Jill asked, half-panicked that she was backing out of her promise. 

                "Of course. He can help me."

                "No, Gabe is helping me, isn't that right?" Arabella asked the giggling boy. 

                "I'm helping Im!" the boy announced throwing his arms around Imogen's neck. 

                "That's settled then," Jill laughed. 

                Sirius came back into the room looking distracted and hassled. 

                "Good news or bad?" Jill asked tentatively. 

                "Not so good. Come on, we have to see Dorothy Fudge before dinner. Apparently she's not happy about something," Sirius said, throwing his leather jacket on hurriedly and helping Jill into her coat.     

                "Well, why do I have to come?" Jill pouted. "I hate that old bag."

                "Damage control," Sirius said. 

                "She's that irate?" Jill asked. 

                "Yep."

                "Bye. Good luck," Arabella cooed with a wry smile. 

                "Good luck to you too," Sirius answered. "Imogen's going to run circles around you. She's right. Your cooking is atrocious."

                Sirius ducked out of the office with a brief goodbye to Imogen and Gabriel as Jill kissed his forehead and thanked Imogen again.  

                The door shut just in time to block Sirius from the book Arabella hurled at him for his lack of confidence in her cooking. It crashed into the door with a bang, causing Gabriel to giggle for several minutes. 

***

                "What's this all about, Dorothy?" Sirius asked holding out the letter that he had just received. 

                They entered the immaculate and pristine residence of the former Minister of Magic, his wife's residence solely now. 

                The older woman, graying but very regal-looking with a pinched aristocratic face led them into a neatly appointed room with a blazing fire. She gestured for them to sit. Jill and Sirius did. 

                "I am pulling my funding." Dorothy's face held not a sign that she was in anyway joking. She was stern and immovable. 

                "What? Why?" Jill asked urgently. 

                Sirius shook his head and threw the letter in his hand into the fire. "This is ridiculous. Couldn't we have had this conversation tomorrow? We were just on the way out."

                "No. I have just gotten back from my cruise."

                "Lovely, why should we give a damn? We know this already," Jill said in a frustrated monotone. 

                "I arrived home to the most alarming news," Dorothy continued, glaring at Jill for her most uncouth interruption. "Imagine my surprise when I found out who was representing that disgusting excuse for a human being, Peter Pettigrew."

                "You can't be serious?" 

                "I am quite serious," Dorothy answered. "Why, might I ask, do you feel compelled to speak for that horrid man—a man, might I remind you, who killed my husband?" Her eyes were narrowed to dangerous slits. 

                "I am representing Peter because he deserves a fair trial. Everyone does. And I aim to see he gets one. To hell with your funding, you miserable old witch. How much of this is about your husband really, and how much is about revenge?" Sirius was becoming angry. "I don't have to explain anything to you. I have my own reasons where Peter is concerned."

                "Indeed," was all Dorothy could say. 

                "We've all lost people because of Voldemort. He's killed my godson's parents, my friends, Arabella's brother, Jill's husband, Remus. Countless others. They didn't want revenge. They don't want to see Peter hanged." Sirius stood and Jill followed his lead. 

                "I'll fund the whole damned operation myself. I don't want you to have any part in it," Sirius finished. 

                The stern old woman who had remained silent up until this point spoke, "I will pursue this matter. You will not win, Mr. Black. Mr. Pettigrew will die. I will see justice met."

                "Goodbye, Dorothy," Sirius said, escorting Jill to the door. 

                "Goodnight, Mr. Black, Ms. Parry." Dorothy watched them go with calm and practiced indifference. Jill thought she might have detected a smile, an answer to an unseen challenge. 

***

                "Ron, we've been over this, haven't we?" Hermione lectured slowly. 

                Ron was sprawled on the floor, pouting as usual. From the lofty perspective of the bed, Hermione counseled him in stern tones. She was becoming quite bored of his rants. 

                "Colin will make a fine Seeker. Plus, you told Dean to choose in your absence. It's only fair that you trust his judgment now." She raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to one side. "This isn't just about Quidditch, is it?" 

                "It's about Malfoy," Ron admitted sulkily. 

                Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion. "How can your problems with the team have anything to do with Draco Malfoy? He doesn't even play anymore," Hermione pointed out reasonably. 

                "He's the reason I couldn't make the try-outs."

                "What did he do this time?" Hermione asked, bracing herself for a boring rant, including one or more of the following: He insulted a Weasley, he cursed and/or hexed someone or something, he was being Draco Malfoy. 

                "He wanted to know what happened to Ginny. You know, how they got her to give Lucy away."

                Hermione heaved a great sigh. "Ron, tell me you didn't hit him, or do anything else that would force me to take points from Gryffindor."

                "You would have liked that, wouldn't you?" Ron asked with a wry smile. 

                "So what did you do?" Hermione asked, no longer fighting to look interested. 

                "I told him."

                "You told him what? You actually had a conversation with him? Ron, I'm impressed." Hermione's eyes lit with amused admiration.

                "You're impressed?" Ron echoed. "Ginny's going to be furious with me."

                "What did he want to know?" 

                "Apparently he was unconvinced that she wouldn't willingly give his precious sister up." Ron stopped a minute and then laughed. "He thought that they threatened her and she gave in."

                "And?" Hermione prompted. 

                "And I set him straight. She's still fighting the effects of whatever they pumped her full of. What a prat, he could have seen it, the way she looked. She was near death when we found her. He didn't see it. He still doesn't." Ron shook his head and clenched his teeth.                   

                "Stop grinding your teeth. It's not good for your jaw," Hermione scolded before she could catch herself. "So, he believed you? He's going to go a little easier on her?" 

                "No. He believed me well enough. He was nearly shocked right out of his chair. It told him to stay away from her. He's not good enough for her and he's the last thing she needs to deal with right now."

                "Ron, it's sweet of you to look out for her the way you do. But Ginny's going to be sixteen in two days. She can handle herself. I think she's had enough of proving that to you, to the rest of your family, and Harry too. She's got to make her own decisions. I know you mean well, but let her decide who's good enough for her and who's not. It's really none of your business." Hermione smiled sympathetically. 

                She'd never had any siblings and she could only imagine how difficult it must be for Ron to let Ginny grow up. But Ginny was like her little sister too, and she knew that there was much more going on between her and Draco Malfoy then Ron would want to know. She decided to leave it at that. 

***

                "Ruth James?" the guard asked.

                "Yes, that's right." Her auburn hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail. She was wearing the clothes that she'd been wearing at work. She came directly from the Ministry. It was the only way to insure that Arabella would not catch her. Of course this had meant that Imogen would not be making her appearances in several classes today. But, who really cared about that anyway?

                "Wand," the stony faced man commanded. He held his hand out and Imogen reluctantly relinquished her wand to him. "You have thirty minutes."

                Imogen smiled and allowed herself to be led down a corridor and onto a cell-block, a familiar cell-block. Her smile faded into terror. She had to will herself on. The memories of this place bore down on her mercilessly. It was here, just two short years ago that she had been brought with countless other classmates who were systematically eliminated. She felt like a cheat. She had survived while many others had died. Life never claimed to be fair. 

                The guard left her standing in front of a small gray cell. Inside the cell sat a man on a stone bench, slumped and miserable looking. Imogen wanted to cry. He didn't deserve this. Everyone made mistakes in life. She didn't believe that any of them merited death. And death was exactly what he was staring down. 

                His verdict would come next week after the last of the proceedings. It was all in order. Sirius was a talented orator and very brilliant, but words and logic would not get him out of this one. 

                She couldn't help but feel that she had some hand in his sad fate. 

                "Peter?" she asked in a mouse's voice. Her hands were shaking. Would he know who she was? Would he hate her just the same? 

                "Who are you and what do you want?" he asked in a gruff voiced. He didn't look up. He looked miserable, like a caged lion. 

                Imogen reached up and lowered the hood of her cloak. He still wouldn't recognize her. He'd never met Ruthie, her newest disguise. But he might remember Imogen. 

                "It's me, Peter," she said. She had no idea how to explain this to him. How complicated had things become? She couldn't tell him outright who he was talking to. She hadn't realized just how messed up things had become lately—it was all routine to her. Ministry, school, hiding, spying, it all bled into one continuous waking nightmare. 

                Peter eyed her suspiciously, standing and slowly coming to the bars in front of her. "Should I know you?" 

                She nodded and smiled. "Thank you for saving the others," she said. 

                "The others?" Peter repeated, confused. 

                Imogen bit her lip. How could she be subtle about this. She couldn't explain it all outright. Who knew if the room was under surveillance, etc. "You were the one to alert the Ministry to Ravenclaw's castle and you sabotaged Voldemort's plans. I knew you would." She bit her lip and paused. "I believed in you. Remember? I told you that you didn't have to worry about me. And I'm here now." A tear fell involuntarily down her cheek. 

                Peter's confusion melted into a look of realization. "You…but you…I saw you…I held you…carried you out. You were dead." He sank to his knees and stared at the ground, trying desperately to put it all together. 

                Imogen knelt where he was on the dreadfully cold stone. She reached through the bars and took both of his hands in hers. "It's difficult to explain. Just know that I'm here now. You're not alone."

                He brought both of her small hands to his mouth and kissed them. "I don't fear death now…now that I know you live."

                "You have no reason to fear death. Your punishment will soon be over. You won't suffer needlessly again." Imogen said in a barely audible tone. 

                "You must be an angel." Peter looked at her with an air of complete reverence. 

                Imogen smiled warmly and shook her head. "Angels are impervious to sin. I have the blood of many on my hands."

                "You are an angel to me," Peter countered. 

                No other words were said. They sat hands clasped to each others. They merely took shelter in the presence of each other, if only briefly from the never ending storm. Too soon the guard called. Imogen's time was up and she left the cell and Peter reluctantly. 


	9. Tears In Heaven

Disclaimer: All of the same legal stuff applies. 

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Jennifer who cried when Lucy died. You flatter me. 

Chapter Nine

Tears In Heaven

_"Would you know my name_

_If I saw you in heaven_

_Will it be the same _

_If I saw you in heaven _

_I must be strong, and carry on_

_Cause I know I don't belong _

_Here in heaven…"_

_Eric Clapton: 'Tears In Heaven'_

                "A rat, Ginny. I can't believe you blew our cover because of a rat." Imogen shook her head in mock disappointment. 

                "I'm sorry. I hate them. I couldn't help it," Ginny said. 

                As they walked out of the Great Hall and to their respective first classes of the day, a cold voice with measured impatience stayed them. 

                "Miss Spencer, a word in my office." Professor Snape's voice stopped both girls. 

                Ginny heard the barely audible response of Imogen: "Shit!"

                "Now, Miss Spencer." Professor Snape turned on his heels and headed off in the other direction. Imogen followed with shoulders slumped. 

                Ginny shot her a piteous glance before continuing up the stairs to Charms class.

                Imogen didn't speak for the entire walk down to Snape's dungeon office. Neither of them did. 

                Professor Snape, once behind his desk, glared at Imogen and asked, "I'm sure you have a very good excuse planned out as to why you were not in class yesterday. But I don't want to hear it."

                Imogen didn't look up. She knew what was coming next and she sighed a heavy, resigned sigh. Detention added to all of the other things she was expected to do in a day, compounded by the fact that she was up nights worrying about Peter and chasing Lucius Malfoy through the Middle Ages in her spare time. 

                "You are getting detention for this."

                Imogen nodded. It was only fair. 

                "Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. Mr. Flich's office. I'm sure he can put you to some use." Professor Snape grabbed a stack of papers and began to flip through them. "You may go now, Miss Spencer."             

                Imogen gave a start. "You're not going to take points?"

                "No. Slytherin is in the lead, but only marginally. I think it would be unfair to the rest of your house mates if your indiscretions lost it for them. You're already very unpopular among them. Let's not push it further."

                "Thank you, Professor," Imogen said and then left, relieved that she hadn't lost any points for her house but dreading tomorrow night. What would Filch have planned for her? She almost didn't want to think about it—not before lunch anyway. 

*** 

                "Tea, dear?" Ella asked her grandson as the house elves carried in the tray. 

                Draco shook his head and continued his playing. It sounded different, their song. The melody was quite hollow without the cello that usually accompanied it. 

                Ella sat in silence until the piece was finished. She knew she must talk to her grandson. He was suffering over something and it really was most unusual that he should show up on her doorstep tonight. He wasn't in the habit of visiting during the regular school months. He had planned to spend Christmas with her in the city, but that was weeks and weeks off. 

                "Come here, child. Tell me what's been bothering you," she said in a very grandmotherly tone. 

                Draco did as he was asked and came to sit next to his grandmother on the sofa. He remained silent, in thought, staring out at nothing. She had seen him like this before, but not since Lucy's accident. 

                "How is the lovely Virginia doing, dear?" she asked brightly. She smiled as she noticed that the mention of her name brought him out of his solitary mood. 

                "Fine, I guess. I don't see her much. We're both a little too busy to talk." Draco leaned back and avoided the elderly woman's stare. 

                "That's a load of crap, dear," she scolded gently. "What are you doing? You'll regret pushing her away, mark my words. That girl would walk through fire for you. I know it. Lucy knew it. She loves you and you're too much of a coward to love her back." She smiled. She knew she was lighting a fire under him. She could sense his seething next to her. "Instead, you're here. Hiding out."

                "It's complicated, grandmother." 

                "Then explain it to me. I am still of sound mind. I'm not too far over the hill yet. And there's certainly nothing you could say that would shock me, dear."

                "I know that there's really no one I can blame for what happened—," he faltered a bit. 

                "For Lucy's death. Go on, dear."

                "But, I guess I thought I could handle it if I had someone to hate, someone to blame everything on. Voldemort and my father used Ginny to find the other heirs. So, I blamed her. I was unforgivably angry with her. I was so angry I that I didn't even notice that she was hurt. They hurt her, drugged her for the information and she almost died." He paused. "They used Veritas Serum on her, a lot of it. I didn't see it. I didn't want to. I assumed that she was like all of the rest of them. I thought maybe she was like everyone else. She didn't give a damn about Lucy, she'd turn her over to Voldemort if it meant saving herself. How could I have had such little faith in her?"

                "Because, you've had little opportunity to place faith in anyone. Certainly your father was never someone you could rely on." Ella stopped momentarily as she felt her grandson tense as she mentioned his father.  

                After a moment, Draco continued. "Yes, but how can I expect her to forgive all of that, for believing her capable of—if it had been me, I wouldn't forgive. I would hate. I'm sure she hates me."

                "And how are you sure about that? Have you asked for her forgiveness?"

                "You mean apologize? I never apologize. I'm a Malfoy."

                "That's bullshit, sweetheart. Do you want her forgiveness? Do you want to know if she loves you or not?" Ella waited for an answer.

                Draco nodded with a defeated sort of air. 

                "Then you have to apologize."

                "Can I stay tonight?" Draco asked, after a labored sigh escaped him. 

                "Yes, but you cannot hideout here. I expect you to be back at school by tomorrow afternoon."

                "Thank you, grandmother." Draco stood and stretched and then bent to kiss his grandmother's cheek. "Goodnight."

                "Goodnight, love. Think about what I said, will you," she called after him as he retreated from the parlor and up the stairs. 

                "Yes, grandmother," she heard him call wearily as his footfalls on the stairs diminished. 

***

                Draco was very weary. He hadn't had a decent night's sleep since he'd passed out on the sofa at the Manor the night before school started. He climbed the stairs with heavy feet and a full mind. His grandmother had given him much to think over. Too much, in fact, to give him any moment's rest. 

                His room at the top of the landing was lit with a low burning fire. The room was dim and the flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, on a large painting that hung there—himself and his sister at ages seven and three. 

                He'd forgotten entirely that this painting was here, taken for granted when she was alive. Now it was somehow sacred because she was no longer there. 

                He lay down on the bed, not bothering to remove his shoes, prey to all of the memories that inevitably crept in while he was struggling to find sleep. 

                _He gave a start when he saw her eyes flutter open. She had been out for three days. Jumping to his feet he started for the door. His mother would want to know that she was awake. _

_                He was stayed by her as she placed a hand on his forearm, silently asking him not to leave her. He wouldn't if that's what she wanted. He placed his other hand over hers, bandaged, her fingertip where cold. _

_                He pulled a chair closer to her bed and sat, never taking his eyes from her. _

_                Silently he thanked God for hearing his prayer. She had come back to him. It was the only time he had ever asked God for anything, and the last time he would ever speak to Him again. _

_                Lucy tried to sit up and cried out slightly in pain. _

_                "Don't," Draco said, restraining her. He winced in empathy. She must be in terrible pain though her tranquil face would never give her away. _

_                After a few labored breaths she spoke, "What happened?"_

_                "You had an accident," he hated his mindless conformity to his father's excuses. _

_                She shook her head slowly and looked away. "I remember."_

_                "Lucy, what were you thinking? Why do you do it?" Draco asked, frustrated by her seeming proclivity to infuriate their father. _

_                She looked back over to him, her eyes gleamed with something like impatience. "I think I know what he's up to. I know what he's planning. I need to tell—," she paused. A look of horror and panic passed over her face. "Draco, I can't feel my legs." Her eyes were wide, searching his face for an explanation she knew he had. _

_                Draco stood again. "I'm going to get the doctor."_

_                "No," Lucy demanded. "You're going to tell me what's going on. Draco, what's wrong with me?" Her eyes were pleading. _

_                He wasn't the right person to tell her and he didn't want to be the one to have to. "Let me get the doctor. He can explain it for you."_

_                "Draco, just tell me!" _

_                Draco took a deep breath and braced himself. Still he couldn't remember anything that had been more difficult than this moment. "There was too much damage to your spine. They couldn't repair it."_

_                She began to cry. _

_                Draco moved to sit next to her on the bed, careful not to hurt her. He felt her shaking in his arms and he was terrified for her. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to get news like that. _

_                "So…so I'm paralyzed?" she said through her sobs. _

_                Draco nodded. _

_                The silence was long and tense. Lucy's crying was the only sound in the room. _

_                "I can live with that, I guess," she said finally, smiling brightly. Draco would never know a stronger person. _

_                "I am so sorry, Lucy," he said after a moment. _

_                She yawned. Despite the shocking news she had just received, she was falling asleep again. The medication was kicking in. _

_                "Sorry for what?" she yawned again. Draco felt her slump in his arms. She was asleep. _

_                "Sorry that I wasn't there to stop him. I won't let anyone hurt you again," he promised and then kissed her forehead. "I will protect you, I promise."_

He'd promised in vain. She was dead. 

                With the memory, his self-loathing kicked in. He hated himself. He promised her and he broke that promise. No one would ever be safe around him. His father seemed to prey on the people he loved. Ginny was better off without him. Even her brother seemed to pick up on that. 

                He sat up quickly and opened the door, treading silently along the landing and down the stairs. He went into the now empty parlor and opened the cabinet in the corner. Typical French liquor adorned the shelves. He swore silently. Gin was his usual vice. 

                Oh, well, he thought, anything would do. He wanted to drown out all memories, all guilt. He wanted to sleep for a change. He pulled a bottle down at random and drained it in a matter of minutes. 

                He watched the dying flames of the parlor's fire from the couch. In no time they blurred into a fuzzy image and then ceased to be all together. And he was asleep. 

*** 

                __

Tuesday morning, late morning, found Draco blissfully unconscious on his grandmother's parlor sofa. She leaned over him and shook her head. She was growing more worried for him by the minute. 

                She bent and untied the laces of his shoes and took them off, placing his feet on the sofa instead of seeing him sprawled out in the impossible position she'd found him in. She pulled a blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over him, leaving him to sleep it off in his own time. She intended to write to his Headmaster this afternoon to excuse his absence from school. 

                Closing the door to leave him in peace, Ella was stopped by one of the house elves who announced that Sirius Black was here to see her. 

                "Ah, how are you, dear?" she asked brightly seeing the familiar face of her friend. 

                "Frustrated," Sirius admitted. "Dorothy has pulled funding due to the fact that I am representing Peter. I have a feeling she's going to make his next hearing and any subsequent appeals very difficult."

                "She has a lot of influence, that old bag. If it's the investigation team you are worried about, I'll fund it entirely," she said with an eccentrically elegant wave of her hand. 

                "It's nothing to do with funding. I think she's going to do everything she can to see that Peter hangs." Sirius was looking very hassled about something. Ella guessed that it was nothing to do with Dorothy Fudge or Peter Pettigrew. 

                "Dear, over half of the wizarding community would like nothing more than to see him executed. It's public knowledge that he informed on Harry's parents. That boy is a hero. Naturally the community would want to see justice followed through on poor Peter." Ella tried reasoning and then gave up all together. "It's nearly time for lunch. Will you join me? I know a lovely little spot by the park, excellent croissants."

                Sirius nodded and followed her out. 

*** 

                Draco awoke to the sound of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Even with the parlor doors shut, the sound pounded painfully between his ears. 

                He held his wrist up to his face and waited until the number on his watch came into focus. One o'clock. There went the promise to his grandmother about going back to school this morning. 

                He sat up, an action that brought painful consequences. His head spun unpleasantly and his stomach churned. What was the last thing he had eaten? He couldn't remember. Just the thought of food left him teetering on the edge of nausea. 

                He leaned over precariously with a rush of blood to the head and put his shoes on. Tying them proved to be more of a challenge than he was up to. He left the laces dangling loosely from them and stood on wobbly feet. 

                He went to the desk—the same one he sat at only months before to write his grandmother explaining why he was taking Lucy back to England. It was just after Ginny had been taken. He wrote his grandmother now to tell her that he was going back to school and that he planned to follow her advice with regards to Ginny. At the end he thanked her and signed it with love. 

                He grabbed his coat that was slung lazily over an armchair and left the house. 

***

                Ginny walked carelessly around the lake. She was taking the advice of her physician. She needed exercise to rebuild her immune system. Ginny was following that suggestion. She was also advised to avoid stress. 

                Oops! Ginny thought with a half-smile. I wonder if chasing evil Death Eaters through the past was considered stressful. 

                She shuffled her feet along the soft earth at the water's edge. The wind had a cold bite to it, but it was pleasant enough for early November. She wrapped her cloak around her and coughed slightly. _Great,_ she thought, a cold is just what I need right before end of term exams. 

                She had come out here to seek solace from Nan's continual taunts. Honestly, what was wrong with that girl? 

                The wind picked up more as she made another lazy lap and then it started to rain. 

                "Argh!" Ginny raged, throwing her hands up at the sky, water dripping down her nose. "Am I always doomed to the worst of luck, or what?" she asked the clouds. 

                She trudged miserably back up to the steps of the school, stomping as much mud off of her ruined shoes as possible. She was dripping and sniveling and she knew in a few days' time she would have a lovely cold. 

                Just inside the entrance hall, Ginny stopped to catch her breath and to peel her soaking cloak off of her shoulders. Her clothes underneath were soaked too. Her hair was plastered to her face, giving her the appearance of a drowned dog. She hopped no one would see her as she sneaked up the stairs.      

                She was nearly to the portrait of the Fat Lady when a voice stopped her. 

                It was Filch. 

                She turned slowly, dreading what he would say next after he stopped her with a shout. 

                "Tracks all the way up the stairs and down the hall. Do you think I have the time to mop up after every disgusting little student?" Mrs. Norris slinked silently around her master's ankles giving Ginny the haughtiest of stares. 

                "I got caught in the rain, sir. I _am_ terribly sorry." Ginny knew her pleas would get her nowhere. "I'll clean it up, I promise. I just have to change first." She looked down and noticed with dread that she was creating a large pool of rain water under her dripping robes. 

                "Oh, you'll do more than mop, young lady. I'm giving you detention for this. Five points from…what house are you in?" he asked. 

                Ginny blinked and then stared. "Gryffindor," she added, trying hard not to laugh. 

                "Five points from Gryffindor then."

                Damn, Ginny thought, I should have said Hufflepuff. 

                "Change out of those wet things and meet me outside of my office at eight. You'll have company, but I suspect that neither of you will find anything pleasant about your punishment." Filch turned and walked away, Mrs. Norris scurrying behind him. 

                Ginny felt no hint of regret at once having petrified that evil cat. She had the uncontrollable urge at the moment to kick it. 

                She sniffed and then turned and entered the common room. 

***

                "Have there been any strange sort of abductions lately? Around here?" Sirius asked as he strolled next to Ella Bertrand through a park on the east end of Paris. 

                "Abductions?" Ella asked stopping and turning to face her companion. 

                "Children. Groups of them. Schools. Orphanages."

                "Yes, actually. One was raided two weeks ago. One that I regularly donate to, as it happens. Why do you ask, Sirius?" Ella furrowed her brow and stared intently at him. 

                Sirius gestured to a bench and they both sat. He began his theory. "Two have been attacked in the White Chapel district, just last week alone. Arabella has been drawing comparisons between this strange rash and one that took place in the forties, Grindewald's great scheme."

                "What was he looking for?" Ella asked. 

                "That's the thing. No one knows. Only in this case, the copy-cat is not killing at random. He's taking the children, killing only the workers and caretakers—adults." Sirius watched Ella's expression change from that of polite interest and curiosity into one of shock and concealed horror. 

                "So someone is preying on the children, using them for something?" Ella asked slowly. 

                "That's our best guess."

                "It's Lucius Malfoy. I'd place any wager on it." She nodded firmly. 

                Sirius shook his head and regarded her as the oddest of conspiracy theorists. "Ella, Lucius Malfoy was presumed dead this past summer. It couldn't possibly—," he was cut off by her uncharacteristically sharp tone. 

                "Did you find a body?"

                "Well, no. But, no one could have survived—," he was cut off again. 

                "Lucius Malfoy is not just anyone. I wouldn't be surprised if he were watching us as we speak. He has disappeared but he is certainly not gone." She stopped and sat up straighter. "In fact, your conclusions seem to confirm what I've been suspecting for sometime. He is alive and he is behind this."

                "How can you be so sure?" Sirius asked, searching her eyes for some logical reasoning. Maybe the death of her granddaughter had finally gotten to her. 

                "He's been using children in several different experiments forever. His family has funded an orphanage on their estate for years. He uses them. Uses the tenants' children. Dale was investigating this all along. I think she was on to something." She sighed and crossed one leg elegantly over the other. "But, then he killed her and that was the end of that."

                Sirius was shocked. He wanted to believe that she was just making some horrible joke. He didn't know what to say. 

                "He tried to use his daughter once, too," she continued. 

                Sirius still said noting, his face was the very picture of revulsion and anger. 

                "A dementor, I think it was what Dale was trying to explain to me. She fought for that child furiously. That was when they came to live with me for a while. Lucy was only six years old at the time. Draco had just turned ten. "

                "Has he made any attempts to get to his son?" Sirius said with mounting alarm. 

                "No. He wouldn't harm Draco. He only ever went after Lucy." Ella stood. 

                "What do you think he'd do with all of those children?" Sirius asked, standing as well. 

                "I shudder to think." Ella turned to walk back to the car where her driver was now waiting for her. He had just popped into the shop for some cigarettes a moment before. "I will poke around on this end. Use my connections, spies, to see what he's up to. I'll contact you in a week."

                "Bye, Ella." Sirius kissed her cheek and handed her into the car. "Take care of yourself. Don't do anything rash without me." She winked and he shut the door, stepping back up onto the curb. 

                He watched the car retreat against a bleeding red afternoon sun. 

                The car disappeared around a corner and Sirius walked back across the street and to the park. He was going to poke around the raided orphanage that Ella had mentioned. 

                He hadn't even gotten halfway across the street when a loud explosion rocked the entire block, nearly throwing him to the ground. He whirled around and saw that flames were leaping wildly from the wreck of the car he had just watched pass. You wouldn't have even been able to guess that it had been a Jaguar the minute before this. Now it was an inferno of hot orange and red flames. 

                Another explosion  rocked the street as the fire reached the gas tank. 

                "Jesus!" exclaimed a shocked and panicked Sirius who headed back across the road and toward the wreck of fire and twisted mental. It was too hot to get closer. There was nothing he could do. They were both dead, driver as well as passenger. 

***

                Ginny was only slightly more relieved when she saw that Imogen was to be her companion in detention tonight. 

                They were summarily ushered into the dark bowels of the school where Filch merrily announced to them that they were to shelve three loads of books and other materials that had been recently archived. There was no room in the library and every so often another crate was packed up and shipped down here for sorting and storage. 

                Ginny guessed that no one had bothered to shelve these books in quite a while. It would take them all night. She couldn't think of any useful spells that would expedite the job any faster. 

                They worked in silence for a while until the novelty of the job wore off and they became bored with the task. 

                "Do you think we'll go back again soon?" Imogen asked. 

                Ginny sneezed at the dust and answered. "I don't know. Do you still want to find out what Lucius Malfoy is up to? I don't give a damn about the Founders and the chosen ones and all of that crap anymore." 

                "Yes, I would like to know what he's planning."

                Ginny reached over to unfasten the last of the crates. Only this one didn't contain books. It was a case of wine. Ginny blew dust from one of the bottles and read. "Nineteen-twenty-three. Not bad." She looked suggestively to Imogen who in turn produced her wand and lit the opposite wall. It was covered in racks of rare wines. They were in a wine cellar. 

                "What do they do with all of this stuff?" Ginny asked in amazement. 

                Imogen turned and leveled and incredulous glare at her. "What? You think that the teachers are drinking pumpkin juice, same as you?" 

                "Filch is an idiot for leaving us in here," Ginny laughed, expertly uncorking the bottle. "What should we toast to?"

                Imogen gave a moment's thought to the question. "No, wait! I've got it!" She cleared her throat and threw her chest out pompously. "Fuck the lot of them, let's get sloshed."

                "Right on!" Ginny agreed, throwing the dark red liquid back with an air of carelessness. 

                They had no idea what time it was when they stumbled out of the cellar giggling hysterically. 

                Ginny was crying with laugher, stumbled and fell to her hands and knees. She was crippled with the effort and so resorted to crawling on the dungeon floor as her only means of transportation. 

                Imogen trailed behind, weaving with an empty bottle. 

                There was a sliver of light at the end of the tunnel and so they gravitated toward it without thinking. 

                Imogen comically put a finger to her lips as they neared. It was Snape's office. He was deep in conversation with someone. They both stopped to listen. 

                Ginny secretly hoped that it was Crabbe or Goyle receiving some sort of punishment. 

                They kept to a corner where they were reasonably concealed in darkness of the hall. 

                "I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this." Snape's voice had a nervous sort of edge to it. 

                "Go on," an impatient voice answered. Ginny gasped slightly. It was Draco's voice. 

                "There's no easy way to say what I have to—," the Potions Master was cut off with a clipped command. 

                "Just say it. What could possibly be so bad that you dragged me down here at eleven o'clock at night?" Ginny could hear Imogen's loud breathing as she stood behind her. 

                "It's your grandmother, Draco. She was killed in an accident this afternoon." Snape's voice shook with regret. Ginny was too hammered to tell if it was manufactured or genuine. 

                Luckily her reflexes were still somewhat in tact. 

                Imogen had dropped the wine bottle that she had been carrying. Ginny caught it just before it could crash to the floor. She wouldn't be responsible for blowing their cover twice in one week. 

                "That just isn't true. I was there this morning," Draco was saying. 

                "Mr. Malfoy, I assure you that it is true. If you'd like to talk to the Headmaster, I can arrange it. He has the most details," Snape offered. 

                "Thank you, perhaps in the morning." Draco sounded stunned and disbelieving. 

                "If there's anything I can—," Snape began. 

"Thank you. No, Professor. I'll be fine."

                "I will understand if you are not in class in the morning. Please feel free to take the rest of the week off." Snape's offers were politely refused. 

                Ginny heard Imogen's drunken sobbing behind her and nudged the girl to shut her up. 

                Draco came out into the hallway looking very much like a deer caught in the headlamp of an oncoming train. 

                He closed the door and let his chin fall to his chest. 

                Imogen's crying was loud enough for him to hear. He turned and looked into the shadows. 

                "Who's there?" he called in a cautious tone. 

                Ginny pushed herself away from the wall and came into view. "It's just us," she said, endeavoring to keep her tone even. 

                Apparently he hadn't thought that they were eavesdropping and so ended the questioning when she explained that they were down in the wine cellar sorting books in detention. 

                His comments ended with the general observation, "You're drunk."

                "Yes, very," Ginny said, clapping a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. 

                Draco bent and picked Imogen up off of the ground where she was still crying and forced her to stand upright. He placed one of her arms around his neck and braced her with a hand around her waist. She sniffed softly but didn't say anything. Her head lolled and hit Draco's shoulder hard. 

                He looked from Imogen to Ginny and shook his head wearily, but didn't comment. 

                She followed him as he supported Imogen and climbed the stairs to the upper levels. 

                Once, Ginny stumbled on the steps up to the Gryffindor common room and grabbed at the back of Draco's shirt. He reached around and caught her by the wrist just before she hit the stone. 

                With an agitated sigh he shifted Imogen's weight in one arm and supported Ginny with the other. This was becoming a bit ridiculous. 

                At the top of the stairs, Draco caught sight of Harry just as he was heading to the Fat Lady's portrait. 

                "Potter," Draco said with measured effort, supporting the dead weight of two rather pissed girls. "Give me a hand, would you."

                Harry looked thoroughly perplexed but rushed over and caught Ginny as Draco knocked her into his arms. "What happened to them?"

                "Detention was the only explanation I got," Draco said simply. He hoisted the smaller girl over his shoulder. She was still crying softly. It was a funny sight and Harry laughed as the pair retreated to the Slytherin common room. 

                "Thanks for the lift," Ginny slurred after him. 

                "Anytime," Draco called over his shoulder as he disappeared down the stairs with his load. 

                "Come on," Harry said, unable to hide his amusement. "You're going to be in for it when Ron finds out about this. You know that, right?" he asked. 

                Ginny's chin fell to her chest but she didn't say a word. 

                Harry sighed in exhaustion and lifted her dead weight into his arms and stepped into the common room. _  
  
_


	10. On Different Sides

Disclaimer: I own most of the plot, some of the characters and none of the money that the real author behind the Harry Potter series does. 

Author's Dedication: Krystal, I know that you love dedications and since you're having a rough time I'll dedicate this one to you just because I think it's important not to beat yourself up or worry needlessly. You may think that it's all screwed up now, but that's what Ginny thought too. I'm smiling now because I'm comparing you to my Ginny. (Sorry, I'm not calling you tragic—I promise). I would just insert your name anywhere hers shows up (because it's choc full of your fav Slytherin) but for the sake of the other readers I won't. Cheer up, girl! It's not that bad. 

Chapter Ten 

On Different Sides

_"If I give up on you I give up on me _

_If we fight what's true, will we ever be_

_Even God himself and the faith I knew _

_Shouldn't hold me back, shouldn't keep me from you_

_Tease me, by holding out your hand _

_Then leave me, or take me as I am _

_And live our lives, stigmatized…"_

_The Calling: 'Stigmatized'_

                "Where have you been?" A voice from behind her made her cringe. Imogen turned slowly to greet her temporary guardian who had been waiting in the dark for her. 

                "I had detention," Imogen said massaging her temples and collapsing on the couch next to her. 

                "For what?" Arabella asked, eyeing her charge suspiciously. 

                "Skipping class."

                "Who's?"

                "Snape's. Are you done with the questions?" Imogen huffed and bent to untie her shoes. 

                "No. Why weren't you in class?" Arabella didn't look like she expected an answer. She continued. "I know you won't tell me. I did some checking around. I know where you went. And I told you not to." She shook her head and stood over the mutinous-looking child in front of her. "How many more chances do you think I have to give you? Finnigan made it perfectly clear that if you mess, up you stand trial."

                "I had to see him. It's because of me he's there. He's not coming out of that place alive and it's my fault. What did you expect me to do?" Imogen stood. 

                "To follow orders. You do good work at the Ministry. You're valuable. We appreciate that. But you're a minor and a criminal. Jesus! I'm trying to keep you out of Azkaban. You want to help me out a bit?" Arabella was pacing with rage now. 

                Imogen sat again, her mood changing considerably. "Is what I heard true? Is she dead?" 

                Arabella stopped and eyed the girl with sympathy. "Yes. How did you hear?"

                "Never mind. Was it him?" 

                "Yes. Imogen," Arabella stopped and sat beside her charge. "About him. There's something I need to discuss with you."

                Imogen looked weary, fighting tears, but resigned. 

                Seeing the proof of how tough this kid was directly, Arabella continued in a more confident tone. "We think he's planning something. I know you know how he works. You've watched him in action before."

                "I know for a fact that he's planning something."

                "How?" Arabella stood again and leveled an impatient glare at her. 

                Imogen was immovable. She didn't say a word. 

                "We want  you to trail him. I'm taking you off of the Minister's case. I'm pretty sure he's clean," Arabella said. 

                "And I'm sure that he isn't. Who's we, by the way? Surely Sirius didn't agree to this." Imogen regarded the older lady for a long time, trying to discern anything that would give her plans away in full. 

                "I want you to go undercover."

                Imogen looked horrified as the full meaning of the terms came to her. She fought revulsion long enough to make it to the bathroom where she wretched, either from the suggestion or from the alcohol, she wasn't quite sure. 

                Arabella followed her down the hall. She found her bent over the toilet, a ghastly shade of white. "I will be standing by. We just want you to get us some information. Anything. Location to the next raid. Base of operation. Little stuff. I won't let anything happen to you. I promise you, dear."

                "Do you know what you're asking? Did you know that Elena Vassikin was his mistress? It'll give me away immediately. I couldn't—," she broke off as she felt another wave of nausea coming. 

                "I'm not asking you to put yourself in that kind of position. I am asking for twenty minutes at most. A conversation. No one is as familiar with her mannerisms, her ways around him than you, dear."

                "No." Imogen unclasped the bracelet from her wrist and flipped open one of the small compartments, encrusted with sapphires and emeralds. She held the pills it contained in her trembling palm. Just as she made the motion of tossing them into the toilet, Arabella brandished her want and Summoned them from her grasp. 

                "It's this, or Azkaban."

                "No. I have done everything you've asked of me. I can't do this. I don't want anyone hurt, but…you'll have to get someone else."

                "You're not going back to Hogwarts," Arabella snarled. "You have too much freedom. You've forgotten that you don't have much say in this. You have two choices. Respectfully declining isn't one of them."

                "I still have a family. I'm not some discarded pieces of trash that you can throw away if you choose. I have another choice." Imogen was hysterical, screaming, despite her pounding head. She held firmly to the ornate bracelet and picked herself up off of the ground. 

                "Your grandmother is dead. Your father doesn't want you. What other choice do you have?"           

                Imogen stormed past her and to her room at the end of the hall. Throwing clothing wildly into a bag, she wiped the tears from her eyes and flew around the room in a rage. 

                "Where do you think you're going?" Arabella said, blocking the door. She glared determinedly at her charge. She was immovable. She would win this argument. 

                "Back to school. I'm not doing this. Send the authorities after me if you wish."

                "What is this really about?" Arabella crossed her arms in front of her. She was going to get to the bottom of this and then Imogen would do her job. 

                Imogen stopped where she was and spun around to face the infuriating woman in front of her. Her anger faltered and she could think of no better explanation than the truth. "He thinks I'm dead. No, that's not it." She shook her head as if to clear it and continued. "He loved Lucy. She's dead. She's gone. I'm all that's left. But it's not good enough for him."

                Arabella laughed. A cold laugh. "You would throw your future away. Rot in prison? Over some boy who's in love with an alter ego? Imogen is who you are and who you always will be. You can't go back. Innocence once lost, can never be regained. He doesn't even know you."

                Imogen's lip trembled but she didn't cry. She knew it was true. The truth was always cruel. She knew that. Her heart sank painfully anyway. She was still human and it still hurt—too much. 

                She grabbed her bags and pushed past Arabella with some difficulty. 

                "If you don't agree to this by Friday, you _will_ be arrested!" Arabella called after her. 

                Imogen didn't turn around, nor did she reply. She merely held up a finger, universally code for _fuck off. _She opened the door and walked out. 

*** 

                Ginny surveyed the sky warily. It didn't look like rain today, but it was a bit colder than the beginning of the week. Today was her birthday and, as usual, her mother had sent her a birthday cake. She also sent a note with it. Ginny had it with her now. 

                She had given the cake to Ron and his dorm mates. She saved the letter for her afternoon walk around the lake. The wind was blowing fiercely, whipping her cloak around her furiously. But Ginny was stubborn and sat down on the tree stump by the water's edge. The weather wouldn't drive her indoors today. 

                Pulling the envelope from her pocket she tore it open carefully and unfolded the single piece of parchment. There was a photograph enclosed as well. 

                Ginny began to read the letter, in her mother's familiarly hurried scrawl. A customary tear ran down her cheek, but she smiled fondly. It read:

_Ginny dear,_

_                I was cleaning in Percy's room just the other day and I found this. It was just hanging there on the mirror. I must have seen it a million times and never thought to give it to you. _

_                Do you remember when it was taken?_

_Don't cry. It's your birthday, sweetheart._

_I know he would have wanted you to have it. _

_Have a wonderful day. I'll see you at the train station in three weeks. _

_Love always, _

_Mum_

Ginny smiled through her tears as she looked at the picture. It was taken from a Muggle camera in black and white film. It was of her birthday when she was…five years old? She wasn't positive. She looked so young. She was laying sprawled on the sofa, on her stomach, bare feet kicking wildly in the air. She remembered that sun dress, it had been her favorite. Percy sat on the floor beside her, reading from a thick and very boring-looking book. Ginny remembered not caring what it was that he was reading out to her, it could have been Transfiguration or any number of other textbooks. She remembered loving his attention, listening to every word because she adored him. And he adored her. 

Another tear chased down her cheek and dropped from her chin. It left a cold trail as the wind whipped up again. The photograph blew from Ginny's hand before she had the chance to catch it. She cursed as she watched it land on the surface of the half frozen lake. 

Ginny jumped up frantically and searched the pockets of her robes. No wand. She cursed again and stomped her foot on the frozen ground, watching helplessly as it floated further away. 

She hadn't even seen Draco, who came up beside her. Seeing her distress, he immediately waded into the water. He was nearly to his waist when he reached the photograph. 

He came out of the lake half soaked and endeavoring not to shiver. Ginny knew how cold it must have been, but she had been distracted in trying to remember if anyone had done anything quite this sweet for her before. She remembered with a half smile how the little boy in the Paris park had retrieved the disabled boat for the little girl in pig tails. 

Draco looked at the photo briefly before handing it to her. 

Ginny was stunned. She didn't know what to do next. She could only think of the two little French children. She took the photo from him and leaned forward to kiss his cheek in thanks. 

She was half surprised when he moved in the last instant, catching her kiss with his lips. 

He broke away in the next instant and blushed slightly. This surprised Ginny the most. Were Malfoys allowed to blush?

"I am so sorry, Ginny," Draco said in a barely audible tone. 

Ginny was surprised to hear it. She looked up from the photograph. It hadn't been ruined. Just a little wet. "Sorry for what, Draco?" she asked, searching his cool silver eyes for his meaning. 

"I didn't know you had been through so much just to protect her. I didn't want to see it. I wanted to blame you. I'm sorry I didn't understand." Draco was searching her eyes for something as well. For what? Forgiveness? He had that unconditionally. 

Ginny nodded and looked away. "How did you find out?"

"Your brother."

Ginny looked back at him. But any anger that she tried to summon melted when she saw him, dripping, shivering and in general pathetic and pleading. 

"I don't want pity."

"I'm not giving you any."

"Then what. What do you want?" Ginny couldn't put the sharp edge on her voice that she knew the question deserved. It sounded a little hopeful, a gentle offer. 

"Forgiveness." Draco had been staring at the ground in front of her feet. He chanced a brief glance at her and returned his eyes to the ground. 

Ginny could stand it no longer. She couldn't act when she felt this strongly. To hell with what everyone else wanted. Right now she only cared about what she wanted. And he was standing right in front of her. She quickly paced the few steps to where he stood and threw her arms around him. "And forgive me."

A relieved sigh escaped him as he gathered her up in his arms. "Forgive you?"

"Yes, for not seeing where all this would lead. I'm supposed to be able to see these things." She pulled back. There were tears in her eyes. "I swear. Had I known she was in any danger I would have done things differently."

Draco reached up and wiped her cheek with his thumb. "I know you would have. So would I."

He slid his hands underneath her cloak and placed them on her warm back, tracing the contours of her spine with a finger. 

Ginny jumped and then started to laugh. 

Draco pulled back and furrowed his brow. "Why are you laughing at me?"

Ginny shook her head. "It's not you. Your hands are cold."

She leaned up on the tips of her toes and kissed him before saying, "Come on inside. I don't want to be responsible for you catching a cold."

He allowed her to take his hand and lead him back up to the castle. His grandmother had been right about her. She always was. 

He felt a pang as she crept into his mind. But he was reassured in the knowledge that she would have been proud of him. He had been humbled, had apologized. He wasn't completely his father's son. 

Inside the entryway of the considerably warmer castle Draco and Ginny stopped, staring expectantly at one another. Draco would have professed anything, offered anything, done anything she'd asked him, if she would just give any indication that she wanted him to. 

Ginny thought later with some regret but far more relief that if he'd asked her to come with him, back to his room, she would have—more than willingly. 

Instead she squeezed his icy hand in hers and kissed him demurely on the cheek. As she came closer to him, resting her free hand on his chest she felt his wand concealed in one of the pockets of his robes. She smiled. 

Draco looked at her quizzically. "Why are you always laughing when you kiss me. It's really starting to hamper my self esteem."

Ginny didn't explain, but reached into his robes and produced his wand. 

He smiled. Taking his wand he looked away and bit his lip. "I didn't think of the summoning charm," he admitted with an embarrassed smile. 

He was becoming more adorable by the second. 

"Your way was more charming." Ginny thought she'd better beat a quick retreat before she did  something she might regret. 

She turned and ascended the stairs to Gryffindor Tower. 

Draco watched her go with much regret but also equal parts of understanding. He went in the opposite direction and down to the Slytherin common room. 

***  

Imogen had been in her pajamas all day. 

She was thankful that there had been only one other girl in Slytherin House in her year. But, she had left school after the Azkaban incident two years ago which left her with a room to herself. 

But she couldn't look at the inside of this room for one more instant. 

She kicked off the blanket that she had been wrapped in and threw on her cloak over the light blue pants and button down top. She didn't care if she did catch hell for her appearance. It seemed she was already headed in that general direction anyway. 

She padded, bare footed, up to the roof below the Astronomy Tower. She came up here for the view and sometimes when she needed to let off some steam. Now she wanted a little of both. 

It was late afternoon and the wind was picking up. She didn't seem to feel it. She felt numb—dead. Thoughts of various kinds had been chasing themselves around her head since she left Arabella's last night. First and foremost in her mind had been: Didn't anyone care about her? Arabella surely didn't. She wouldn't have suggested what she had if she had her welfare at heart. How could she be so cruel? Imogen smiled as she thought she might be better off in the care of her father instead of her. 

She perched on the stone battlements, feet drawn up underneath her, shielded from the cold. She caught the movement of two figures below: a boy and a dog. 

Her heart sank painfully, echoing the truth of Arabella's statement last night_, "He doesn't even know who you are."_ That was true. He never would understand. 

She wished that things would lay themselves out as neatly for her as they seemed to for him. Everything was black and white, good and evil. It was this simplicity of his character that she was drawn to. He was unlike anyone she had ever known before. She knew this the first time she had met him—just after her mother had died. She was at the lake and he had found her there, crying like a slob over _Tale of Two Cities she shook her head. Maybe she would have had a chance with him if the events from that moment to this had been altered. Her chance was gone now. He was in love with someone else—a dream, she was gone. She would never be back. _

It hurt her to deny him that person. 

Imogen was all that was left. A murderer, a fallen angel. Soon there would be another man's blood on her hands. His trial was set for Monday. 

Perhaps that was why Arabella was so upset, frantically unmoving in this matter. She was trying to help Peter. Imogen's eyes grew wider with the new perspective. Did Lucius Malfoy know something that could possibly help Peter?

Imogen scrambled off of the parapet as the sun began to sink behind the dominating mountains at the limits of her sight. She had to write Arabella, find out what she wasn't telling her. If it could help Peter in the smallest, Imogen would do it. 

She ran the entire way to the common room as Professor Flitwick yelled after her to slow down. 

She was stopped in the hallway outside of the Great Hall as Ginny called after her. 

"Where have you been? I was looking for you."

"I flew south for the winter," Imogen answered in a sarcastic tone. 

"Cute. I have an idea."

"Can it wait? I was just on my way to do something," Imogen began. 

"Is something wrong?" Ginny looked at her friend, worry dawning on her face. 

Imogen looked into Ginny's eyes. She could tell that her friend was nearly bouncing with uncharacteristic glee. She regretted that what she was about to say might kill that. "I'm leaving school, Ginny. Before I go, I'll make you a Time-Turner so you can go back and talk to Mungo. I think you should."

Ginny was stunned but nodded anyway. "Isn't it illegal to manufacture those?"

"Yes," Imogen shrugged with an air suggesting that she didn't see the danger in the Ministry finding out. "It's on my head if they find out. You're free from incrimination, don't worry." Imogen turned to leave but stopped. "Bye, Ginny," the small dark-haired girl said, moving to hug her shocked friend. 

Ginny was alarmed with the finality of the gesture and was left there staring after Imogen as she took a flight of stairs down to the dungeons and out of sight. 

Back in the dark security of her dorm room, Imogen pulled her spare Turner and a caldron from her wardrobe. She flipped her Dark Arts text that she stole away from Malfoy Manor on her bed. She began toiling silently with the potion that would enable the Time-Turner to go back to 1352 AD just before the battle of Hogwarts. She knew that this was where Ginny needed to wind up. She couldn't say why, she just felt it when Azria had placed her hand on her forehead when she'd been unconscious. 

While it was simmering, Imogen wrote Arabella, asking her to impart the entire plan, objectives, what she needed to retrieve exactly, how long she had until it was too late to save Peter. 

She sealed and addressed the envelope. Setting it aside to take to the Owlery after she was finished, she stirred the bubbling mixture and glanced at the clock. It was twelve-thirty. 

She took the caldron off the fire and dipped the Time-Turner carefully into it. Setting this aside, she wrote Ginny a brief note, begging her to use it soon, to listen to Mungo. She knew he had something important to tell Ginny. She wasn't listening and she desperately needed to. Placing the Time-Turner and the note in a separate envelope she wrote Ginny's name on it and placed it next to the one addressed to Arabella on the desk. 

Bending to clean up the caldron and its companion mess, Imogen was shocked when she heard the door of her room open and shut with a purposeful slam. 

She turned quickly to see Draco standing there. An involuntary shudder wracked her as she stood to face him. 

His eyes looked hollow and deadened. He had the ruthless impatient air of importance and indifference characteristic of his father. 

Imogen backed away, frightened.

*** 

After a rather awkward meeting with the Headmaster in which Draco learned all of the particulars surrounding his grandmother's death, Draco decided to head to the armory to think over things in his own way. 

He entered the dark and deserted place under immense apprehension. The last time he was here he had awoken to an enormous headache, sprawled along the cold stone floor after a conversation with his father. He wasn't eager for a repeat performance and so made sure that he was the only one there. 

He chose his weapon and began running through the drills. His father had taught him most of what he knew. Rarely had Draco picked up anything from another source. 

Lucy had been different. 

In the years preceding her accident, she had developed a graceful fencing style all of her own. Draco had been envious of her. She'd learned none of it from their father. He wouldn't have bothered to teach her. He never thought she was worth the energy to teach. 

But he had been meticulous in his instruction of his son. So much so that Draco still found himself mindlessly gravitating toward his father's views, ideas, beliefs. Still, after so long, after he'd given most of it up, Draco still felt himself compelled toward the man who would seek to fashion him into an image of himself. He didn't know if that equaled love. He was almost sure that there was no love in him to waste on his father. 

Hate. He hated him. He hated him for what he did to Lucy, his mother, his grandmother and Ginny. 

His heart sank and he stopped in mid-swing as he thought of her. 

He wasn't being wise where Ginny was concerned. He was opening himself up for another avenue of pain and hurt. Yet, it was painful to be without her. 

He reproached himself for this selfish thought. 

His grandmother was dead, and he could guess why. 

Would she be next?

Could he risk that?

The answer was definitely no. But, how could he put distance between them without hurting her as well? He nearly stumbled into a lunge and swore. He was getting sloppy. 

"Is there something on your mind, son?" the cold voice asked. Draco didn't flinch, didn't start. He'd almost expected it. 

He turned and was less than surprised to see his father leaning lazily against the weapon rack. 

"Should I even ask how you keep managing to get in here?" he said, mimicking his father's lazy tone. 

"You're certainly welcome to. I can't promise I'll give you an answer."

Lucius pulled down a rapier, wrought in Spanish steel. It was magnificent. He saluted his son who saluted lazily in turn. They sparred and continued the conversation. 

Draco was beginning to wonder why all of their conversations had taken place while fencing. It seemed to be the only way they were ever able to talk to each other. They were always in combat with one another. It was curious. 

"It was you wasn't it? Did you think you were trying to be ironic? Car bomb. Very funny, father." Draco was not amused. 

Lucius' lips split into a cunning smile. "Yes, I quite thought so."

"Why did you do it? She wasn't threatening you."

"You have no idea how involved she was. And she was getting tiresome. Were you aware that she had actually filed a custody suit against me for Lucilla?" He laughed mercilessly and blocked Draco's angry swing. 

Draco had tried to strike out of some unknown need to wound, to hurt. He had never wanted his father to mention her again. The way he spoke her name was an insult. 

"Well, we don't have to worry about either of them getting in the way, now do we?" Lucius continued, surveying his son with a smirk. 

Draco glared at his father. 

"You took them away from me. You took everything."

"I am giving you everything. You will be great, powerful, infallible. Draco, I am working toward your future. Don't you understand?" Lucius had stepped back, disengaging Draco from combat. He was fervently begging him with his eyes to understand him. 

"No. I don't understand. I want none of whatever it is you're offering. I want them back. Can you give me that?" Draco lowered his sword and stepped back as well. 

"No. But what I offer you is greater. If you would just come with me. I need one thing from you and then all will be complete. I will show you everything."

"Nothing is greater than what I had. What you took from me. I loved my sister. I want her back. I want nothing else from you. And since you can't give me that, I'll settle for never seeing you again." Draco threw his rapier in the corner and began to walk away. 

Lucius brandished his wand and sealed the exits with an incantation. The room reverberated with the force of it. Draco stopped and turned. 

Slowly, Lucius approached him. "You sound just like your mother spouting nonsense ideals of love and truth. It's almost revolting. It's Lucilla's influence over you. That's why she had to go, you understand. That's why I killed your grandmother. You have no one else to rely on, save me."

He leveled his wand at Draco. 

"Now what I need from you, son," Lucius continued, his cold gray eyes never leaving Draco's, "is a book in the possession of Imogen Spencer."

"How do you know her? You stay away from her."

Lucius scoffed. "Calm down, boy. I won't harm her. You sound disappointingly like a Gryffindor."

"Is that such a bad thing?" Draco asked, his chin set defiantly. 

Lucius chose to ignore this and press the issue at hand. "This book was mine. She has taken it from me. It is one of the original texts of the Dark Arts and contains a particular spell I am keen to have."

"It was you. You know about Imogen because you were there…at the house…when she came…you trashed Lucy's room.  You bastard. What were you looking for? Lucy had your book? What would she want with it?" Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. 

"Lucilla did a lot of things in secret. Apparently, this Miss Spencer knew about the book and used you as a pretense to abscond with it. I want it back." Lucius still had his wand leveled at Draco, but Draco was used to this and remained undaunted. 

"Well, I am not your little messenger boy. I will not ask her for it. I care nothing for your plans. And if I hear of you harming her in any way I will—," Draco could not finish his threat as he was plunged into a blissful state of complete obedience. The Imperious Curse. 

He felt the alien feeling of rage somewhere deep below him. He reached for it. Concentrated on it. He fought the curse and it was painful to seemingly go against your will. It wasn't actually your own will that you were fighting, but that of another impressed upon you. 

He broke free from it. "If you hurt her I will hunt you down and kill you myself." He finished his threat only to be plunged further into the depths of his father's will. He could not escape it this time. And felt that he wouldn't want to either. 

"Fetch my book from Miss Spencer. Bring it to me and then return to your dormitory," Lucius commanded. 

Draco obeyed immediately. 

***

"Draco?" Imogen asked, her trembling voice betraying her fear. 

"Where is my father's book, Imogen?" Draco asked hollowly. 

Without speaking, Imogen ran to the bed and placed herself between the ancient book laying open there and Draco. 

She could tell he was being influenced by a curse. If she knew which one, she could counteract it. But she wouldn't dare without knowing. She could hurt him irreparably if she had gotten the wrong one. 

"Draco, who's got you under this curse? Do you know which one it is?" Imogen tried to no avail. 

Draco brought his fist down hard across the small girl's cheek, leaving her motionless on the ground. 

He picked up the large book effortlessly. 

Without a glance back at the girl, face bleeding onto the rug, he left and brought the book to his father as he was commanded. 


	11. Waiting In The Dark

Disclaimer: I own only some original characters, who remain so numerous that I won't even try to claim them all by name. Any that you do not recognize as Rowling's are probably mine. 

Author's Note: Okay, folks. It's getting good. (Hopefully. You are the reviewers so you tell me). I don't claim to be original. Dean William R. Inge once asked, "What is originality? Undetected plagiarism." Hopefully, I claim all of the bits I use. The "How's that thought coming," bit was taken from a cheesy show called _Good Morning Miami_ as well as "Your eyes are like a window to a world that I desperately want to be a part of." Misquote? Not sure…but I'm sure I've made improvements. The, "Sometimes, If I slam on the breaks…" quote was taken from Toby Z. on _The West Wing (Which, as always, deserves no improvement as it is brilliant the way it is). And don't flame for the Avril Lavigne lyrics…I just like the song. _

Chapter Eleven

Waiting In The Dark

'I'm standing in the rain 

_I'm waiting in the dark _

_I thought that you'd be here by now_

_There's nothing but the rain_

_No footsteps on the ground _

_I'm listening but there's no sound _

_Isn't anyone trying to find me?_

_Won't somebody come take me home?_

_It's a damn cold night _

_Trying to figure out this life_

_Won't you take me by the hand?_

_Take me somewhere new_

_I don't know who you are_

_But, I'm, I'm with you…"_

_Avril Lavigne, 'I'm With You'_

                Her whole left cheek was throbbing and it took her a minute to orient herself. She was lying on the rug in her seldom-used dorm room. It was in this moment before she labouredly pulled herself into an upright position she saw the owl waiting impatiently at the window and then she remembered what had happened and cursed. 

                Jumping to her feet and fighting off the dizziness that accompanied such a movement, she looked around the room. But, of course, the book was not there. Draco had taken it. 

                She distractedly let in the harassed bird and relieved it of its letter. She cursed again. It was from Arabella. 

                She hadn't sent her reply yet. Arabella didn't know. 

                How long had she been out?

                She glanced over at the clock by her bed. It was two twenty-five. She'd been unconscious for nearly two and a half hours. She had to get moving. There was no more time to waste. She surveyed her disheveled, pajama clad self, shrugged and threw on her cloak. She had to get that letter to the Owlery and the other one to Ginny. And then it was time to do what she knew she couldn't avoid. 

                With all three letters in hand, the one addressed to her unopened, she threw the door of her room wide with purpose and walked out. She took nothing else with her. She didn't think she'd be back, but she didn't much care. It was an assignment that might save Peter's life—what else mattered?

                Her breath caught in her chest as she entered the common room and saw Draco sitting there, an urgent and unhappy flush rising in his cheeks. Imogen, a hint of the remaining terror that she had felt the moment he'd advanced on her coming back, made a quick movement to the exit. 

                Draco was fast in getting up from the desk he'd been sitting at and grabbed her by the arm before she could leave. 

                Imogen looked mutinous and stared pointedly at Draco's hand clasped around her arm. "I have to go," she said simply, avoiding his pleading eyes. 

                "Imogen, please," Draco began, spinning her around to face him. Alarm painted his face as he saw her cheek where he had struck her. "Jesus, Imogen. I am so sorry."

                "Leave it, Draco. I've handled worse plenty of times."

                He didn't seem to like this answer. "You need to go to the infirmary."

                "I'm fine." Imogen produced a letter, the one addressed to Ginny and handed it to Draco who looked at it questioningly. "I need you to take this to Ginny for me, if you will." After seeing the hand Draco held out to take the letter from her, noticing the red and bleeding knuckles from where he struck her, she took out her wand, gently taking Draco's wounded hand in the other and healed it silently. Draco's expression was an odd mixture of humility, gratitude and astonishment—none of which suited him at all. 

                "Just as well. I was on my way to see her anyway. To say goodbye." He lifted his gaze from where he held her hand to her intense blue eyes. "I'm leaving," he finished. 

                "That's probably a good thing," Imogen offered. "Where will you go?" 

                Draco shrugged elegantly. "I really don't know yet. But I have to get away."

                Imogen nodded. "Please write me. I want to know where you end up. I need to explain some things to you," she gave a tired sigh, "But not right now."

                He squeezed her hand affectionately in his, "I will."

                "Goodbye, Draco," Imogen said labouredly, trying hard not to cry. 

                He smiled and kissed her uninjured cheek. Taking up his bags at the foot of the desk and another letter from off of the top of it, he left her standing in the common room after him. As she watched him leave, Imogen couldn't help but feel as if everything had been inexplicably messed up. It wasn't supposed to turn out like this. 

                A few minutes after he had left, Imogen exited the common room as well and headed to the Owlery. 

***

                Sirius slammed his armload of files onto his desk and reluctantly looked to Arabella who neared tentatively. 

                "Last appeal was denied?" Arabella said, more as a facing of fact than questioning. 

                Sirius shook his head gravely. "He won't fight this. He wants to die. I can't do anymore for him." He moved toward his friend whose face fell into a pathetic pale of hopelessness. "I'm sorry. I wish I could do more."

                "It's not your fault, Sirius. You tried. That's all any of us could do. Any of us that give a damn. Others just run away when things get too tough."

                Sirius was too exhausted to ask for any clarification on that last part. Who had deserted them? He looked at her warily. Was she loosing her mind? 

                "I couldn't push the date back. It's set for Monday evening. Peter tried to get it pushed up. But, I got that overturned. We still have some time." Sirius rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Arabella perched herself on the corner of his desk. "Got any ideas," he asked sardonically. 

                "Yes, but she's not helping us." 

                "What do you mean by—," Sirius began but Arabella waved him off. 

                "Don't ask."

***

                Draco was surprised to learn that a little flirting went a long way with regards to the portrait guardian of Gryffindor Tower. Had he known how easy it had been to get past that fat lady with a wink and a smile—oh, he would have had some fun with Potter and Weasley when he actually gave a damn. 

                He noticed the cozy appointment of the common room a little grudgingly before coming back to the issue, looking for Ginny's room. He planned to sneak in, drop the letters by her bed and then leave. It was a pretty cowardly act, he thought, but he couldn't talk to her. Not now. Not after what had just happened with his father and Imogen. 

                It wasn't hard to find the sixth year girls room. There were little plaques on the doors. Draco scoffed. "Bloody Gryffindors."

                He turned the knob quietly, hoping that he wouldn't wake any of the inhabitants. 

                There was a faint light coming from a half curtained window at the opposite end of the room from two beds. One of the beds had the covers drawn tightly around it. He knew immediately that it wasn't Ginny's. The next bed was not curtained. A halo of red hair made golden in the moonlight spread across the pillow of an angelic form. That was Ginny. 

                He made a few tentative steps toward her, careful not to disturb her. Laying both of the letters, his and Imogen's, on the pillow next to her, Draco stopped one last time just to look at her before he left. It was an awful feeling to look on someone you love and realize that you would never see them again. The last time he had felt that kind of despair was when he held Lucy's lifeless form in his arms. How many more times must he endure this? He knew it was better to say goodbye now while she was asleep than to mourn her in death. While she was asleep she could not protest. He knew he would have stayed if she only asked him to. 

                Her left hand dangled delicately from the bed, revealing a scar that split her palm in even halves. He'd seen this once before along with the matching ones that streaked her wrists. He'd often wondered where this one had come from. He took its cold fingertips in his and placed a light kiss on her palm before laying it over the other one on her chest. 

                With one last glance back at her, he left the room and left the school. 

***

                _It was dark and misty all around her. Ginny could feel her heart beating faster. She had no idea where she was or where she was going, but she had the growing desire to find someone. Who was she looking for? She didn't know. As she moved into a clearing and out of the fog bank she was met with the sight of a dominating castle. Across the water from that, she saw a smoking and flaming mill bridge. The flames were much larger and much more all-consuming than when Imogen had blown it up. She had only lit fire to the flourmill. Now as Ginny watched the angry red-orange flames leap higher, she knew that it was expertly and deliberately set. Someone was trying to destroy the mill. _

_                She walked further on and saw that the destruction was more far-reaching than the mill alone. Hufflepuff castle, the smaller opposing castle to Hogwarts, was also in flame. Ginny's breath constricted painfully in her chest as she saw it: a band—no, an army—of marauding children. She let out a silent scream as she saw one of them, a blond girl of about six years old, brutally hack a Gryffindor knight with a rudimentary looking pike. They were all over the place. They were destroying everything. Mungo was in the middle of it all. His wand was out and he was healing as many people as he could. He looked to be at the end of his strength. Ginny knew from her medical studies that a wizard could wear out all of his strength, even die from prolonged healing. It was the very energy—the will to heal that gave them their abilities. Ginny couldn't even imagine how long Mungo had been at his task. _

_                Ginny wanted to help him. Moved by his impossible task, she knew that he would heal as many as he could before he died himself. _

_                But she couldn't get there. The scene dissolved in front of her. _

_                She was in a room of flames. Lucy lay there. Ginny had no idea what this image meant. Was she to die like Lucy had?_

_                She saw Draco there too. He was leaning over Isaiah who was motionless on the ground. _

_                Ginny bent over Lucy and shook her. The girl awoke, startling Ginny so much that she fell backwards from her crouched position. "The bracelet." Lucy said._

_                Ginny shook her head hopelessly. What did she mean? Ginny didn't know. _

_                As she looked to Draco for an answer—anything. She screamed. He was wreathed in flames. The room was almost consumed in them. He was begging her to go, to take Lucy and go. He and Isaiah were trapped. Beams began to crash down around them._

_                Ginny screamed again, a scream of realization. This wasn't a dream, it was a vision, it was true. _

                Her heartbeat and her breathing were coming fast with this realization. She looked over to Nan's bed. She hadn't disturbed her. Nan usually placed a silencing charm over her bed at night. She had grown tired of Ginny's screaming. 

                She lay down heavily again on her pillow and heard the crunch of paper beneath her. She sat up and took the paper out from under her with an air of sleepy confusion. They were two letters—one from Imogen and one from Draco. 

***

                Imogen neared the Owlery, but paused by the Astronomy Tower entrance. She knew she had little time to waste, but she wanted to think things over properly before acting. She climbed the stairs and took the door just before the Astronomy Tower entrance and out onto the roof. This was her thinking spot. She stood in the doorway and produced one of the letters from her pocket. The one Arabella had just sent her. She opened it and read. 

                _Thirty-two hours left or Azkaban._

                That was the only thing written on the paper. Imogen felt a hot rush of rage flood into her cheeks, causing her injured cheek to throb dully. 

                She screamed out into the night air with all of the pent up anger, frustration and confusion that she could muster. She rent the letter to pieces as she screamed. 

                "Good Lord! Were you trying to kill me?" 

                Imogen looked up from the bits of paper that once was a letter as they fluttered to the ground. 

                It was Harry who had spoken. He was wobbling on his perch on the battlements. 

                Imogen blushed with embarrassment as she realized that her screams had nearly startled him off the roof. 

                "Don't do it," she said, nearing. "See. She's begging you to listen to reason." Imogen pointed to a bored and unconcerned Hedwig. "She would tell you that you have everything to live for, if she could only speak. Can't you see the frustration in her face?" The owl blinked and flew off. 

                Harry smiled warily at the odd ways of the little dark-haired girl. "I wasn't going to jump," he said finally and sat down, flinging his legs over the side of the wall. 

                Imogen came to sit next to him. "I know you weren't."

                Harry pretended to be offended by this admission. "And why not? Don't I look like the type of person to jump?"

                "Oh, no. You do. It's just. You wouldn't waste your parents' sacrifice like that," Imogen admitted, blushing slightly at her forwardness. 

                "How do you know about my parents?" Harry asked, his smile fading. 

                "I make it a point to know about everybody. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." Imogen chanced a look at him and then looked back at the ground far below them. "Why are you up here?" 

                "I was waiting for you," Harry said simply. 

                "Waiting for me? How did you know I'd be up here?"

                "I saw you up here earlier. I didn't know you'd be back up here…I don't know why I'm here." Harry began to get up but Imogen stayed him with a hand on his arm. 

                "Stay, I don't mind. It's a free battlement. Any one can sit here."

                "You're a weird one," Harry said, leveling a scrutinizing glare at her. 

                "You don't know the half of it," Imogen scoffed under her breath. 

                "I'd like to," Harry answered. 

                Imogen just stared. This would make it difficult for her to leave. She knew it. 

                "What do you do up here, besides frighten unsuspecting people to their deaths?" Harry asked, changing the subject. 

                "Oh, I was just," Imogen began self-consciously. "I was just…letting off some steam." She turned to face him. 

                He surveyed her face and asked in alarm, "What happened to you?" He placed a tentative hand on her chin, looking at the cut across her cheek. It had stopped bleeding, but she was sure it looked pretty ghastly. She'd forgotten about it just recently. 

                "It's nothing."

                "It doesn't look like nothing." Harry released her and took the hint that she wouldn't budge on this issue. 

***

                Ginny looked briefly at the letters and tore the first one open in her bed, grabbing her wand to light the space around her. Upon opening the envelope, a small gold chain and a delicate hourglass dropped out into her hand. It was the Time-Turner that Imogen had promised her. There was a short note with it that made a request of her to see Mungo again. 

                _Ginny, _

_                I have to leave. There is an urgent matter that needs my attention and sadly I cannot put it off any longer. _

_                I hope to return soon and we may continue to sort these mysterious events out together. But for now, I think you should continue without me. Please, talk to Mungo. Azria has impressed upon me a great need that you do so. I'm not sure what happened between you two when we were there last. But please, Ginny, try to see past that. There is a greater plan at work and you are needed for it. Listen to what he has to say. _

_                I remain always your friend,_

_                Imogen Spencer. _

                Ginny stared at the neat penmanship that marked the page and sighed heavily, praying that Imogen wasn't getting herself into anything. Surely she would have enough sense not to track the movements of Lucius Malfoy on her own. It was dangerous enough for them to spy on him the first time. 

                Ginny hung the chain around her neck and folded the note. She would talk to her father or to Sirius Black about what she'd seen when she went back in time. It wasn't something that Imogen should deal with. She planned to tell her father everything when she was home for Christmas in just a week and a half. 

                Yawning slightly, Ginny smiled when she noted the writing on the next envelope. It was the neat and elegant hand of Draco, oddly similar to that of Imogen's, but more carelessly graceful. 

                She opened the note excitedly and began to read. Her smile faded into concern and fear before she'd had the chance to finish the first line. It read:

                _Ginny,_

_I'm sorry to have to leave you after the progress we've had in rebuilding our friendship. Events that you might be unaware of have made it impossible for me to continue here. I regret that I left without saying goodbye in person but I know that you of all people would understand when things become too hard to say and do face to face. _

_                Please accept this letter, not as the end of our brief amends, but as a promise that I will return. And accept my most humble apologies that I am unable to explain further. _

_                I think you know why I had to go and I beg you to understand that I do it for you and for Imogen, the last remaining of the people I care about. _

_                Don't try to find me. You are safe with your family. _

_                I hope very much that I will be free to see you again. Until that time, I must say goodbye._

_                Draco  _

_                Ginny blinked back a tear and reread the letter. She knew why he'd left and she could understand why he had. But what her mind could understand completely was an unutterable confusion to her heart. He was gone and she was left with only a promise of his return. _

                She reviewed the images of her latest dream and wondered what his part was in this future she was seeing. She felt her heartbeat increasing as she remembered that she'd seen fire and masonry falling in around him. This letter seemed an eerie portent to a past and a future that she hadn't fully come to understand yet. 

                She kicked the covers off of her and jumped up from her bed. 

                Silently she padded down to the common room and out of the portrait hole. 

***

                "It's not true, you know," Harry said finally. 

                "What isn't?" Imogen asked, tucking her bare feet under her as the wind bit into her unshielded skin. 

                "I'm not an angel. Isn't that what you called me?" 

                Imogen was thankful for the low light, shed only by the moon. It hid the furious blush she felt coming to her cheeks. "I thought you didn't know French?"

                "I asked Hermione. Ange was the only word I remembered you saying. If you weren't talking about yourself than I thought you might mean me. I just wanted to set the record straight," Harry explained brushing his hair carelessly from his face. 

                "And why not? You are the most decent person I've ever known."

                "I wouldn't have let her die. I couldn't have if I were an angel," Harry admitted in a low voice. 

                "You mean Lucy?" Imogen asked tentatively. "That was not your fault. I know. I was there."

                "You were there? Where? Why?" 

                "You didn't see me, but I saw you. I know what you did for her, for all of them." Imogen's heart was beating faster. Should she have just admitted all of that? Did it even matter anymore? "Please know that she wouldn't have expected anymore from you. You did all you could and she knows that."

                "You knew Lucy?" Harry looked at her, his face alight with astonishment. 

                "Yes, I do. And I know that she cared about you very much. She would have said so, if she'd had the chance." Imogen's voice was barely a whisper but it echoed in her head. 

                "I had the chance. I could have told her everything that I thought, everything I felt. But I didn't. I am a coward."

                "Then, if it would help, tell me what it was that you wanted to say to her. She can hear you, you know." Imogen wasn't even hearing what she said anymore. She registered the sound of her own voice but noted only the nervous patter of her heart, the desperate look on his face, the regret in his words. 

                "I would have told her that the first time I saw her was like coming home after wandering aimlessly for years. She reminded me of someone that I can't even remember now. Her face, her laugh, her smile burned all other recollection from my mind. Her eyes were like clear blue windows to a world that I so much wanted to be a part of. It seemed to me a better place than anywhere else I could ever imagine on earth." He never took his eyes off of Imogen's. He only stopped speaking when he'd caught a glimmer of a tear as it ran down her swollen and bruised cheek. He wiped it away gently, careful not to cause her pain. 

                He never would have guessed that it was his words that had inflicted the most pain—a pain that would never fully go away. 

                "She knew that somehow," Imogen said. She leaned in tentatively as Harry's hand on her cheek moved to pull her closer to him and he kissed her gently. 

                "But, it's you," Harry said, pulling away from her finally. 

                "Me?" Imogen said, in a daze. She hardly registered this last comment. 

                "Lucy reminded me of you," Harry clarified. 

                "Are you sure it's not the other way around?" Imogen asked. Her hand went up to touch the one Harry had placed on her cheek. 

                He looked at her considering. "No," he answered simply. 

                She didn't bother to ask for his full meaning. Did he mean no it wasn't the other way around? Or no he wasn't sure? She did care. Lucy wasn't here, _she was._

                "You know, you really should let Madam Pomfrey look at that," Harry said finally, turning her head to look closely at her cheek. She knew it must look awful, swollen and bruised. "If you won't tell me how you got it, that's fine. But please get it taken care of."

                Imogen nodded reluctantly. She didn't want to leave, but his concern was touching and the wound did require attention. 

                He smiled. "Go. I'll see you tomorrow."

                Imogen smiled in reply and turned to go. 

                "Imogen," Harry called after her. She turned and met him where he stood immediately. He hesitated a moment and then wrapped his arms around her shivering form. She kissed him again and then left. 

                Just inside the entrance Imogen stopped. She removed the letter that she meant to take to the Owlery. It was her promise to Arabella. She rent it to pieces without another thought. All her life she had been looking out for everyone else. Now that she had Harry, nothing else mattered. Someone else could risk their necks to save Peter, uncover Lucius Malfoy's plot. She would risk anything to stay here with Harry—even Azkaban.  She regretted her selfishness only slightly. She set her chin and walked down to the infirmary. 

***

                She knew he was still awake. There was a light on. She could see it penetrating the cold stone darkness of the dungeon hallway under the closed door. 

                Ginny took a deep breath and knocked lightly. 

                "Come in," a harassed voice at the other end answered. Ginny turned the knob and stepped into the mildly lit office. 

                Professor Snape looked up from his work, shocked to see her standing there, barefoot and in a nightdress. She was clutching a letter nervously in her hand. "Miss Weasley? It's nearly three in the morning. Is there a reason that you are out of bed at this hour and standing in my office?"

                Ginny stood there for a moment. She had never much thought that he was as evil as Harry and Ron had always claimed he was. Immovable, frank, stern, but otherwise a dedicated teacher and loyal to Dumbledore, that was Professor Snape. He would know what to do about Draco. 

                "I woke up and found this on my pillow. I thought you might know what to do about it," Ginny said in a trembling voice. She handed Draco's letter to Professor Snape. As he read it with a frown of concentration, she continued, "I know about his grandmother. I heard when I was passing." She stopped and bit her lip. She wasn't sure just exactly how much she should let on that she knew. She wouldn't want anyone to know about the Time-Turner or Imogen's involvement, although her situation was ever as precarious as Draco's. 

                Snape looked at her expectantly. 

                "Did Draco's father kill her?" Ginny asked tentatively. She was gaining more confidence. He had not turned her away or punished her yet. She had the feeling he just might believe her if she continued. 

                "You've witnessed the lengths to which Lucius Malfoy would go to completely control his son. He is a man who won't give up. Draco is his. He wants him to think like him, act like him, in every way mimic him. He is arrogant to a fault." Snape regarded Ginny for a moment longer and then invited her to have a seat. Ginny sat quietly as he continued. "It is this reason, this need for full control that drove him to kill Draco's sister. It is likely that he was behind his grandmother's death as well."

                Ginny bit her lip as she watched the Potions Master scan the page again. Would Draco be upset with her for showing it to him? Surely he would understand. He couldn't expect her to do and say nothing when he might be in danger. 

                "It mentions Imogen. I presume he means Miss Spencer. Do you have any idea what she was involved in. Why would he fear for her safety?" Snape's dark eyes flicked up from the page and bore into Ginny. 

                "I dunno, Professor," Ginny said. 

                "It makes sense that he would fear for you, we all do. Disaster seems to find you anywhere. Miss Spencer, to my knowledge, has nothing to do with Lucius Malfoy or any of the past events he has been involved in. She was wholly unconnected with the downfall of Voldemort." Snape returned his eyes to the page with a thoughtful air. 

                "Professor, I'm sorry for the interruption. You said that you all fear for me. What do you mean by that?" Ginny asked curiously but cautiously. 

                "I meant, Miss Weasley, that before you were identified as the seer of the line of Hufflepuff's chosen, you have been sought out by dark forces. It was no accident that the diary of Tom Riddle came into your hands. I suspect that Lucius Malfoy planted it there as an elaborate means of ridding the world of your gift. I suspected, because he has shown such an interest in you, that you possessed something that he's wanted, or wanted to get rid of. Either way, you have been in a place of danger, privilege and terrifying power without even knowing it. Your entire life you have had this gift. His entire life he's been searching for someone like you." Snape looked gravely at the letter, "Perhaps young Mr. Malfoy knew something of his father's intentions for you. Do you know where it is he has gone?"

                "I don't," Ginny said regretfully as her eyes fell to her bare feet on the stone floor of his office. If she had any idea where he'd gone, she wouldn't have come here. She would have gone after him, whether he wanted her to or not. 

                "May I keep this letter for now? I will see if I can track him through Ministry channels and I'll see if Mr. Black can be of any assistance. Although, I dare say he's too busy with his traitorous, murdering friend to be of much help with anything else." Snape said this last part under his breath, but Ginny caught every word. 

                Ginny nodded and stood to leave. As her hand rested on the doorknob she stopped and turned to face him again. "Professor Snape?" she asked tentatively. 

                "Yes?" Snape answered, buried in work again. She wondered faintly if he ever slept. 

                "Why did you threaten Peter when he came to take me to Voldemort? In Azkaban?" Ginny kept her eyes on the ground, the Professor's gaze was too intense for her to hold. He was summing her up in a way, judging whether or not she could handle what he had to say. 

                "Just as Mr. Potter has had people watching him, guarding him all of his life, so have you. Your parents would be astonished to know how long we have been watching you."

                Ginny swallowed. She was beginning to be frightened. She stayed her fear with the realization that Harry has lived with this fear all of his life. There was no one that she would more want to be like. She endeavored to remain calm. 

                Snape continued with a glint of alien fondness behind his dark and cold eyes, "I appreciate that you chose to come to me with this matter. I will send you word when I have found anything on young Mr. Malfoy's whereabouts."

                "Thank you, professor," Ginny managed in a tiny voice and exited the office. 

                She tried her hardest to get back to sleep, but on the sleepless roads the sleepless go. Ginny was no stranger to the wakeful nights. 

***

                It was Saturday. Imogen half expected Arabella to show up at the school and cart her off kicking and screaming to Azkaban, but decided after consideration that it didn't much matter if she did. Harry loved her. He so much as told her so last night. She would give everything else to be the person that he wanted her to be. No more spying, no more interfering. She just wanted to be a kid for once. She realized that she never had been allowed to be before. Always, from the moment she'd been born, expectations, hopes, goals had been heaped on her. She would do as _she pleased now. _

                "Oh, well. She'll have to find me first," Imogen said with a rare smile as she surveyed the mirror. Today was the last Hogsmeade trip of the semester. Imogen planned to go today. She never had in the past, being so busy with the Ministry and all. 

                She knew she was too late to walk down with Harry and Ginny. They were probably already gone into town. She had woken up very late as she couldn't get to sleep the night before. She suspected that it was out of guilt for Peter, but she suppressed that thought immediately. 

                Imogen caught up with them easily enough but was surprised to see who had accompanied them. 

                Ron and Hermione, of course, were there and so was Ginny who looked slightly ill. But what was strange was that attached to Harry's hand, hopping wildly through the streets was Gabriel. 

                "Imogen!" Gabriel shouted, breaking from Harry's grip and running to her. She was startled but happy. She didn't even notice Harry's less than thrilled look to see her there. He looked more regretful than anything, had she looked up at him she would have noticed immediately. 

                "Gabriel! I didn't think I would be seeing you here today! Where is your mother?" Imogen asked, scooping him fondly into her arms. 

                "You know him? Or are you in the habit of picking up strange little kids on the street?" Harry asked, trying hard to smile through his obvious apprehension. 

                "Yes, I know his mother. She dates your godfather, is that right?" Imogen asked, knowing perfectly well that she was right. She felt a morose stab of pain at having to act. She shouldn't have to act. It shouldn't be this hard. 

                He stared at her for a moment. Imogen stared back, her smile fading to concern. "Harry? Is something wrong?" 

                "I need to speak to you for a moment," Harry said after a second, watching Ron and Hermione head toward The Three Broomsticks hand in hand. "Ginny, watch Gabe for me?" Harry asked. 

                Ginny nodded distractedly and sat down on a nearby bench with the rambunctious child. 

                "Where is Jill? How did you get stuck with Gabe-sitting duty?" Imogen laughed as they headed down the street together. 

                Harry seemed distant and cold. It made the winter weather a bit more inhospitable. Imogen shivered and drew her cloak around her. 

                "Jill saw me outside of Zonko's with Ron and Hermione. She was in a hurry somewhere. I offered. It's no big deal." Harry shoved his hands in his pockets and headed down the hill toward a small chapel that had been there on the outskirts of the town since at least the fourteenth century. Imogen had never ventured inside of it, but marveled at its outward grace and beauty. 

                "No. He's a sweet kid. He seems to adore you," Imogen added with a tentative smile that fell immediately as it solicited no response. 

                "Imogen, I have something important to tell you. I… I mean…I feel like I should…" Harry began. 

                "Wait," Imogen interrupted. "Can I say something first? You get your thought into order while I tell you mine" 

                Harry looked hassled but nodded obligingly. 

                "I just wanted to tell you that what you said last night changed me. I didn't think that there was anything real left in me. I've been living lately as if the best part of me was gone. It may be. But maybe there's still some redeemable bit that makes the rest of it not so bad. Does that make sense?" Imogen stopped as Harry sat down on a tree stump under the large window of the chapel. 

                "Sort of," Harry offered guiltily. 

                "I was afraid that there wasn't anything left to love. I just wanted to say that I was wrong. I love you." She smiled and looked hopefully at Harry who stared back, stunned. "How's that thought coming along?" she asked with another bright smile. 

                "I…er…I was wrong, Imogen. I'm sorry. I can't do this. I feel like I'm betraying her. I can't give you what I don't have. I'm sorry." Harry looked pleadingly at Imogen. 

                She stared back with what she hoped looked like a brave face. "No, Harry. Don't be sorry," Imogen offered, expertly covering a broken heart. "That's fine. You don't have to love me back."

                "Then…you don't hate me?" Harry asked tentatively. 

                "I just said I didn't." She paused. This was difficult to do when she was fighting tears. She wouldn't make him feel guilty. He was too good for that. His reasons were right and she knew he didn't want to hurt her. It was she who had hurt herself. She was the only one to blame here. "Harry, it's okay. I don't want to be second choice anymore than you want me to be. I understand completely."

                "I'm sorry," he offered again, breathless. He turned and walked away from her immediately. 

                She waited for him to pass beyond the bend before her knees gave out and she crashed to the ground. A rock dug painfully in her knee, but she deserved that as well. She shook with the tears that she'd been holding in. She had never imagined before what a broken heart felt like, but she had an idea now. 

                Ginny appeared in the path where Harry had been moments before and bent to lift Imogen up again. 

                "Imogen, I'm sorry," she began. 

                Imogen would hear none of it. "Why is everyone so bloody sorry?" She wiped her eyes and dusted off the knees of her jeans.                 

                "It's not your fault. But you have to understand that it's not his fault either—," Ginny began. 

                Imogen wondered if she really believed all of this. Did she really believe that Draco was in the right for suspecting her in Lucy's death. How could she be so altruistic?

                Imogen saw nothing in life to redeem itself. If she had seen the hint of something, it had been trampled in the dust when Harry had walked away. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have stayed. I should have left when I said I was going to. I shouldn't have been stupid enough to think that it was actually me he wanted. I'm so bloody stupid!" Imogen pulled away. 

                Ginny began to lecture in a quiet, tired tone. "He's just confused. Give him a little time. That's all he needs."

                "I'm leaving," Imogen said quietly. 

                "All you need is a little time too. He'll come around. You'll—," Ginny whirled around to face her and stopped. "I'm sorry, what?"

                Imogen smiled sardonically. "You see? Sometimes if I slam on the breaks, you just run right past. I learned that from my father. He does it all the time."

                "You're leaving?" Ginny asked. 

                "Yes, right away. I'll not be back. Goodbye, Ginny," Imogen said stoically, pushing past Ginny and retreating down the path. It was time Elena made her appearance. Her life was shit, but she could help someone else before she died. That was, if luck was still on her side. She doubted it, but still she would try. 


	12. Too Dead To Cry

Disclaimer: I own Imogen, Elena, and any of the Founders' heirs/ chosen that show up in this chapter. Rowling owns the canon characters. Philip Pullman owns the ideas that I set forth in this chapter. I've modified them a bit, but there you have it. "Silang Mabele" is a saying of the amaXhosa in South Africa that means "crush the corn," or "let's get to work." As you might have guessed (maybe I have mentioned it—not sure) Arabella is South African. The compass charm/ portkey and the "Domi" incantation belong to soupofthedaysara and her story _The Book of Jude. _The remembrance of Hagrid comes from _The Goblet Of Fire chapter 37, "The Beginning." The quote, "So she continued in the prolonged twilight…as long as her strength and breath lasted," comes from Primo Levi's _The Reawakening.'__

Author's Note: Don't hate Harry yet. He has a chance to redeem himself still. 

Chapter Twelve

Too Dead To Cry

_"Wish I was too dead to cry_

_My self-affliction fades _

_Stones to throw at my creator _

_Masochists to which I cater _

_You don't need to bother_

_I don't need to be _

_I'll keep slipping farther _

_But once I hold on_

_I won't let go 'till it bleeds…"_

_Corey Taylor: 'Bother'_

_"Men, that's all…they've undergone intercision. They have no daemons [souls], so they have no fear and no imagination and no free will, and they'll fight till they're torn apart."_

_                Marisa  Coulter, Chapter Nine: Theft, 'The Subtle Knife' by Philip Pullman. _

                Imogen entered the office unceremoniously, flinging a length of black fabric over her shoulder. 

                Arabella looked away from Sirius whom she'd been arguing in customary fashion with, and eyed Imogen with a mixture of surprise and relief. 

                "Let's do this," Imogen said, walking past the two of them and into the back room. 

                She was pulling her gray sweater over her head when someone came into the room. She heard the door open and shut behind her. "I swear, I'm getting dressed in here. So leave if you don't want a show."

                "What happened to the boy?" She heard Arabella's voice muffled through the sweater over her head. 

                She pulled it off angrily, static stuck her hair in wild directions. She glared at Arabella who smiled back kindly. It was hard to look intimidating when you were small for your age and had a head of statically charged hair. "Who?" Imogen asked, being vague on purpose. 

                "The one you were willing to go to prison for," Arabella answered, smoothing her hair down in a motherly fashion. 

                Imogen pulled away and glared, fighting tears. There would be no more tears. She would teach herself not to feel. She'd had enough of feeling. It only brought pain. Loving people only brought pain. "He didn't want me," she said in a mouse's voice. Her lip trembled but she fought emotion bravely. She slid the long and elegant material over her head, a dress of the darkest silk. It was something that Elena would wear. 

                Arabella stared at Imogen in silence. Imogen ignored her and undid her trousers, slipping them off under the dress that was far too long for her. She surveyed her reflection with disgust. She had a bruised cheek and looked scrawny under the lengths of silk she wore. 

                "Then he's an idiot," Arabella concluded, fishing two small pills from her pocket and handing them to Imogen. 

                Imogen took them with a look of defeat. She popped one immediately and set the other one under a stone in her intricate bracelet. It took only a matter of seconds for Imogen to turn into Elena Vassikin, a relatively painless process compared to the archaic potion form. 

                She surveyed herself in the mirror one final time, pleased for once to see that the dress now fit. She frowned. Under her breath, Arabella heard her hiss, "What a fucking whore. But this dress is fabulous."

                She turned to Arabella who had a half smile on her face. "Is there anything you can do about this?" she asked, pointing to her marred cheek. "Or are you just going to laugh at me?"

                Arabella pulled her wand from under her robes and moved toward her, taking her chin gently in one hand, tilting her cheek to the light, Arabella charmed the grayish area to match the rest of her porcelain complexion. "Are you going to tell me who gave you that? Who's been hitting you, Imogen?" 

                "Are you asking because you care? I doubt it." Imogen moved away from her, favoring her with a distrusting stare. 

                "How did it happen?" 

                "Would you believe me if I told you it was a riding accident? I smacked into a tree." Imogen bent to slip her shoes on. 

                "You're not a clumsy person. Have you seen your father? Is that from him?" Arabella folded her arms in front of her. 

                "No," Imogen said simply, flinging the door open wide. She took her Time-Turner and wrapped the fine gold chain around it carefully, sticking it down the front of her dress. There was really no other place to put it. She stowed her wand in the band of her stockings, lifting her dress provocatively over one leg as she did so. She smiled slightly at the stunned looks that this gesture elicited from the men in the room. Sirius and Corbin both stared with their mouths open. 

                Pushing Imogen past the drooling men, Arabella called after them, "Silang Mabele, people. You have work to do."

                She shut the door after Imogen and scoffed, "Men."

                "I enjoyed that," Imogen admitted. 

                "You should only be about an hour or so." Arabella brought out a small silver chain with a compass-like charm on the end of it. "Use this to come back. It will transport you home. Should anything happen and you need to get out of there quickly, just say the incantation "Domi" and it will bring you back to me. Got it?" Arabella's commands had a nervous edge to them. 

                Imogen resented this nervousness. It either meant that she thought Imogen was going to arse things up, or that she thought it was going to be dangerous. Of course it was going to be dangerous, but it wasn't Arabella who should be worrying. Yet, Imogen wasn't nervous. How many times had she spied on Lucius Malfoy? Too many to count. She knew if she were found out she would die. He would kill her outright. For some reason, Imogen wasn't afraid. She was resigned. After all, a wise man put it best when he said, "Do every act as if it were your last." And it very well might be her last, she thought. 

                "Domi," Imogen said, placing the chain around her neck. The silver went well with the cut and color of the dress. "Home," she whispered, looking to Arabella one last time. "I don't have a home."

                She produced her wand and Apparated. 

                Arabella stood there for the longest second, trying to justify what she had just done. It was for Peter. She had to keep telling herself, I'm doing this for Peter. 

                She went back inside and scoffed openly. Both Sirius and Corbin were staring at the door where she and Imogen had just passed. "Oh honestly, you two!"

                "Was that…Elena Vassikin?" Sirius said, his brow furrowing in confusion. 

                "Yes. And no," Arabella answered vaguely. She knew this would take a lot of explaining. She didn't have the energy for it today. 

                "Where is Imogen?" Sirius asked, nearing her cautiously. He began to catch on. "Arabella, you didn't just do what I think you did?"

                "What's that?" Arabella asked, collapsing at her desk. 

                "He's…he'll…I can't believe you!" Sirius was yelling. "Is there a way to get to her if something goes wrong? How do you know he won't suspect her right off?"

                "She's fine, Sirius. She has a portkey. She can get back." 

                "It's still not safe. She's fourteen. She's virtually helpless," Sirius was saying, gesturing frantically as if he were trying to convince a jury. 

                "That girl is anything but helpless and she's our last hope," Arabella said, affecting an unconcerned air. 

                "I have to get to the school. Snape has something he wants to discuss with me." He pointed threateningly at Arabella. "We'll continue this discussion later. This is her last job. She's going back to school and you are going to leave her alone."

                "Yeah, yeah." Arabella dismissed his threats as he exited the building with a slam of the door. 

***         

                Ginny had left Gabriel with Ron and Hermione and went in search of Harry. She knew he had damaged things before. But this was damn near irreparable. Ginny didn't want to be the cause of it, and she knew Lucy wouldn't want to be either. 

                She saw him ahead of her on the path. She didn't run after him as it was cold and she was already coughing enough as it was. She knew she would catch up to him inside. 

                And she did eventually catch him up. In his dorm room, Harry retreated to hide. Ginny found him and refused to be dismissed. 

                "What have you done, Harry?" Ginny asked, standing in the doorway of his room. Everyone else was still in town and so there was no fear of interruption. Ginny didn't care if someone had interrupted. She would speak her piece regardless. 

                "I didn't want to hurt her. She isn't…I'm not." Harry was struggling for an explanation. "I didn't want to hurt her," he repeated. 

                "You have," Ginny answered, her voice firm with the slightest edge to it. "Why are you doing this to yourself?" 

                "I don't see you following your advice. Where is Malfoy?" Harry snapped back, laying down and covering is head with a pillow. 

                She bit back her reprimand. There's no way he could have known what had taken place the night before. Draco was gone—and for other reasons than his relationship with her. "That's different," she said simply. 

                "Harry, she loves you and you trampled all over her."

                "I did not. I saved her from getting hurt later. I can't get involved with her. Everyone I love—," he broke off, sitting up and glaring at Ginny. 

                "Everyone you love is punished for loving you, is that what you were going to say?" Ginny asked in a cold tone. "That's crap, Harry."

                "Pardon?" Harry asked, surprised by Ginny's harsh frankness. 

                "I used to think the same thing," Ginny admitted. "It's why I freaked out that time you kissed me, on Christmas. Do you remember that?"

                "Of course I do," Harry said, a little more gently, disarmed for the moment. 

                "I was seeing things then, visions. The visions involved you and other people I loved. I realized after the fact that it didn't matter if you were near me, loved me. Fate is blind to love and other emotions. It claims what it will when the time comes." She paused, nearing him slowly. "I didn't see Lucy's death in time. She was gone by the time I saw. You can't anticipate the future and you can't change it. Just like the past. You can only live the present, Harry. If you don't, you have no life at all."

                Harry smiled, "You sound like Dumbledore."

                Ginny blushed at the compliment. "I still love you. No matter what kind of danger that exposes me to. The same goes for my brother and Hermione. They'd do anything for you. I suspect Imogen would do the same, if you gave her the chance."

                "I do love her. But I don't want her to have to experience the kind of loss I have. It hurts too much. I want to save her from that," Harry admitted, looking away from Ginny and sighing a martyred and confused sigh. 

                "It's not your decision to make, Harry. It's hers. You couldn't make that decision for me. I'm still here. Ron's still here, so is Hermione. I think she would pick you over a solitary, painless life. Besides, I don't think she's a stranger to loss and pain anyway. She is stronger than you think she is."

                Harry nodded. "I've been selfish. I don't expect her to forgive or trust me now."

                "You'd be surprised what love forgives, Harry," Ginny said with the authority of someone who knew. "But she's left school. I don't know where she went. Do you have any idea?"

                Harry looked stricken by this new information. "She didn't say where she was going? It was because of me. Because of what I said, isn't it?"

                Ginny shrugged. "I don't know. She was upset, but I don't think it had anything to do with you. She had planned to leave before this, but for some reason decided to stay." She sat on the bed next to him. 

                "I've lost her, haven't I?"

                "I don't know, Harry," Ginny said as he collapsed with his head on Ginny's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around him and held him, happy to be there for him as he had often been for her. She was ever eager to return the favor. 

                "I'm a fool," Harry sighed. 

                "We all are," Ginny said, resting her head on top of his. 

***

                Imogen knew exactly where to find him. She Apparated directly to the family estate on the Spanish coast. Lucius Malfoy's wealth in land alone was astonishing. But she knew that this would be his ideal base of operation as the governments in this country were the best at turning a blind eye on his ventures. 

                But she was wholly unprepared for what would greet or assail her there. At first, as she appeared in the entrance hall, dusty and stagnant from disuse, the silence was eerie. She called out to anyone who might hear her. When there was no answer she began to think that she had estimated her subject wrong. She lowered the hood of her velvet traveling cloak and walked cautiously down the hall. She felt her heart pounding against her ribs with some unnamed fear. 

                She turned a corner and stepped into a library, smaller than that of Malfoy Manor, but still sizable. There was a fire lit in the gilt fireplace along the far wall. The desk looked as though it had been used recently. Imogen sighed a little, she had gotten the right location at least. But where was Lucius?

                "Hello, pet," a smooth voice called in an alarming proximity to her neck. The hairs stood up where his breath brushed slightly over her skin. He moved like a jungle cat. She shouldn't have forgotten this. It was stupid of her to leave her back exposed like that. She warned herself to take more precaution.          

                He moved to take her cloak from her, briefly admiring her attire underneath. "Did I give you that? It looks familiar."

                Imogen smiled and held her arms out at her sides, and spun around so he could see the front. In her expertly spoken Russian accent she said, "You must have then. Do you like it?"

                "Very much," he smiled, throwing her cloak over the nearest chair. "Tell me, pet. Where have you been all this time?"

                "Why? Did you miss me, Lucius?" she asked, favoring him with a playful smile.    

                "Hardly. But, now that you are here, I'm interested in knowing what you've been up to and why you are back." He circled her slowly, moving one long finger down her exposed back to the low silk hem line of her dress that draped her shoulders elegantly. 

                Imogen suppressed a disgusted shudder. What had she expected in returning as Lucius' mistress?

                "Finalizing plans with Igor," she answered with a bored shrug. She moved as nonchalantly as she could from his touch and walked to the center of the room where she turned and favored him with a scrutinizing gaze. "You look older since the last time I saw you," she said finally. She sat gracefully on the sofa and turned her gaze to the fire, hoping that a thinly veiled insult would distract him from her flimsy story. She hadn't gotten that far along in planning. She had no idea what she would say when he asked why she was here or what she wanted. 

                She certainly didn't want a tour of his bedchambers, so what else would Elena be after? She thought quickly.                

                "Igor. What is that idiot brother of yours up to?" Lucius asked, perching himself on the edge of the desk in front of her. 

                Defiantly, she looked back to him and answered, "The same idiot plans as always. He wants to over throw the government, sell heat to the people, introduce a new dictatorship under his sole control."

                "Why does world domination suddenly sound like an idiot plan to you?" Lucius asked, looking down his nose at her. She stood. He would not treat her liked that. Elena never allowed it. 

                She shrugged, "Igor's plan is an idiot one. Show me something that would change my mind," she challenged. 

                He was on his feet and across the room in one swift motion. He grabbed her forcefully by her bare arms, his manicured nails digging into the flesh. "I have a project underway that would surprise and excite you, leave you in no doubt of my power and genius," Lucius said, inches from her face. She held his stare challengingly. 

                That was all too easy. Playing to his ego. Lucius Malfoy would claim that he had no weaknesses. Imogen knew of only this one, but it was glaring. 

                "I'll show you, pet. That is, if you convince me that you are still trustworthy." He released her. His hand went up to her throat and lingered on the silver chain there. Moving his fingers slowly to her neck, he wrapped his hand around her throat but didn't apply pressure—yet. 

                 "What is your will, lord?" Imogen said, stiffening at this all too familiar threat. 

                "Tell me what your brother plans." He smiled, delighting in the compromising position he now held her in. 

                "I never inform on my brother, no matter if he is a fool or not," she said with conviction. Lucius squeezed, applying even, constricting pressure to her air flow. She clenched her jaws and held his glare unmoving. Imogen knew the limits of what she could endure. This was nothing. She needed to act as Elena would. She was always fiercely protective of her brother, Igor Karkaroff. Imogen knew that she shouldn't give in too soon. She would be suspected. 

                "Yes, but you killed your husband to be with me. I merely ask you to give me one tiny piece of information on your brother's intentions. We needn't go nearly that far where he's concerned." Lucius had an air of mock pleading, yet he pleaded for nothing. He asked and got—or killed. 

                "My husband was boring me. Igor is an endless form of amusement," Imogen just managed. Her air supply was growing short. 

                "Even so," he said with an iron tone and an even harder grip. 

                "He plans an attack on the Kremlin for the first of December. He has no plans outside of Russia, Lucius. He will be no threat, I assure you," Imogen lied. She hoped it was convincing. She really wanted to breath again. 

                "I know that he is of no threat to me. He only lives through my good graces. Let him stage his pathetic revolution in his godforsaken country. I just wanted to know where your loyalties lie." He threw Imogen roughly back on the sofa and made to exit the library. "Now, I'll show you what I've been up to."

                Imogen massaged her throat, but pushed herself off of the sofa to follow him, trying her hardest to catch her breath along the way. 

                She wrapped her cloak around her, feeling more exposed than she ever had. Following silently, she allowed herself to be led into the bowels of the ancient fortress. This place was equipped with one of the most extensive labyrinths of dungeons and torture chambers on the continent, but were known to very few. 

                Her breath caught in her already stressed throat as she came into the light of the main room. She felt a shiver of horror like none she'd ever felt before. 

                Lined along the dank and dripping walls of the low room off the main corridor, were iron cages centuries old. Inside these cages were hundreds of children, some dark and obviously Eastern European, others pale and blond coming from the Northern Islands. He had been collecting children from all over the continent just as Arabella had suspected. 

                She felt Lucius' hand snake around her waist as her drew her closer and whispered in her ear, "Impressed, my pet?" He brushed a stray curl away from her neck with his nose, kissing her ear. She restrained herself from pulling away. It was all of the self composure that remained to her not to strike him and run away while she had the chance. "Don't be," he continued, "These are the children that haven't undergone the…processes yet."

                She hardly knew where he had guided her when she came to another, larger room. It was furiously cold in this room and she immediately knew why. Dementors. 

                He was using dementors to suck the souls from children. But why?          

She felt an uncontrollable flood of despair and sadness wash over her. Her mind was filled with many horrific scenes of her past. One in particular struck her and dragged her deeper into her own misery. 

_She was the one to find him, lying on the floor of her room. There were syringes lying on the floor around him. He wasn't moving and was hardly breathing. She was of little help in her condition. She had been home from the hospital only a little over a month. That was her morphine that he had pumped into his veins, an alarming amount. _

_She cursed and shouted for her mother. She couldn't do anything for him. She could hardly move. She was helpless to stop his dying. She thought for sure it was already too late. Why had he wanted to leave her? She became angry. _

_When her mother came in her reaction was much the same. She was frantic to find her son so near death, death by his own hands. She had never forgiven their father for driving him to this. His attack on her was forgivable, she had lived. If Draco were to die, it would be the end of her toleration of him. Her child meant more than her husband. Her son meant more. Her daughter was only second to him. _

_She found his note, his explanation of why he had tried to leave. Without reading it she rent it to pieces and threw it out the window, watching it flutter to the ground on the late summer breeze. _

The sick despair dragged her down. She barely felt the impact her head had made with the cold stone floor. 

_"Why did you try to leave me?" she asked with a sharp edge once he had come back to consciousness. "I couldn't go on without you."_

_"Yes, you can," Draco answered groggily. "You're stronger than you think you are. I'm weaker than you. I can't fight this."_

_She felt hot tears coming into her eyes. "You have to fight. I need you."_

_"I'll not be like him. I won't take his mark. I can't," Draco said, sitting up and taking her hand. _

_"Mother has stopped him for now. Fight another day, but don't ever leave me. Promise me you won't."_

_She saw Draco searching her eyes. She was unrelenting on this point. "I promise I won't leave you again."_

_She felt somewhere deep down that he would not be able to keep this promise._

_***_

                "It was definitely Lucius Malfoy that was behind Gisella Bertrand's death." Sirius sat in Severus Snape's office fighting to gain control of his patience, endeavoring to maintain some professionalism in spite of the open threats and taunts of his former classmate. 

                "And you have no idea where Draco might have gone or for what reason specifically?" Snape asked, favoring Sirius with an odd stare, suspicion mixed with a little of the purely curious and a little genuine worry for his missing student. 

                "No, Ella never mentioned that there might be anything bothering him, other than the grief of losing his sister. She shed some light on the rash of kidnappings that we have been following. She was sure that Lucius was behind it and I'm beginning to believe her."

                "As you should. When it comes to that man, she knows what she's talking about." Snape took a piece of paper off of the top of his desk, a letter, and scanned it. He changed topic suddenly and asked, "Do you know of a particular student here? One in my house, actually. Imogen Spencer?"

                Sirius' eyes were wide. "Yes, I do. Why?"

                "Draco mentioned her in connection to his leaving. He mentioned that he feared for her as well as Miss Weasley." He kept his eyes to the paper, but noted the surprise in Sirius' voice. 

                "Ginny? What does she have to do with any of this?" Sirius asked, furrowing his brow in confusion. 

                Snape waved the letter in his hand. "Young Mr. Malfoy wrote to her before he left. He gave a vague interest in their safety as his reason for leaving school. I understand his fear for Miss Weasley. She has been hunted by them since her birth. Are you aware of the Chamber of Secrets incident in her first year?" His voice was measured and patient. He apparently liked explaining things to Sirius. Having an upper hand. Knowing things that the other man didn't. 

                "Harry's second year, yes. She almost died, is that right?" Sirius asked, sitting up. 

                "Yes, quite right. Only, as I have suspected for sometime, it was not her death that they were after—," he began but was cut off by Sirius. 

                "Yes, Voldemort was using her to get to Harry."

                "Not every bloody thing is about Potter," Snape shouted, pounding an authoritative fist on his desk. "He wanted her _abilities_. When he failed, he tried again, using her blood to restore him to his body while they were in Azkaban." His expression fell. "Sadly, I could not save her from his predations then. But I won't fail again. That is why I must know how Miss Spencer is involved. Is she being used? Do you know if she is in danger? I must know, Black."

                "The truth is, at the moment she is very much in danger. Arabella has been using her as a spy on the Minister. She has been his aide all term." Sirius chanced a look at Snape who was sitting with quiet astonishment on his face. 

                He continued, "She is undercover as Elena Vassikin at the moment. Arabella's keen idea."

                Snape stood, sending his heavy leather chair flying into the wall behind him. "She's what? What in the name of Christ is wrong with you people? You sent a child after Lucius Malfoy disguised as his assassin and mistress?" 

                "Arabella did it without my knowing. I would have stopped her. She assures me that she is quite safe." Sirius paused and against his better judgment admitted, "Although, with Peter's execution nearing, she hasn't been thinking all that clearly. I suppose she wanted Imogen to retrieve anything that would help in Peter's case. She's convinced that Malfoy knows something." 

                Snape rounded his desk urgently. "I must speak to the Headmaster immediately."

                "Do you think Imogen might be in trouble?" Sirius asked, noting the frantic behavior of the Potions Master. 

                "It's imperative, Black. Lucius Malfoy isn't exactly know for his understanding and care of children. He's killed his daughter. What makes you think Miss Spencer will be any different? And he is renowned for smelling out spies." They exchanged a glance but the comments remained unsaid between them. 

                They both hurried out of the dungeon office and up to speak to Dumbledore before dinner began. 

***

                Imogen awoke to the cold touch of Lucius' hand on her cheek. She sat up, fighting a dizzy feeling. 

                His cruel, playful laughter rung painfully in her ears. "Careful. You had quite a nasty bump to the head. Honestly, had I know that you had turned into such a delicate flower, I would not have brought you down there."

                Imogen jerked her face angrily away from his touch. "I'm not delicate. You might have warned me that you were using dementors though. Put me on my guard," she snapped, sitting up on the sofa of the library. 

                "Delicacy is a decided attraction, pet," Lucius said, running a graceful finger down her shoulder. 

                "Then look elsewhere for such an attraction," she snapped again, jerking away from him. "I'm no flower. I was merely unprepared," Imogen lied. She stood and wavered a bit. 

                Lucius laughed and stood up beside her, steadying her with a hand to her shoulder. "Yes, well. Come with me there is more to show you."

                He took her hand and produced his wand, Apparating them to a place she recognized, a place she had been that morning, a place she never wanted nor expected to see again. The chapel at the edge of Hogsmeade.  The place was deserted this late in the afternoon. Lucius must have known that, she thought. 

                He led her inside, lighting his wand. It wasn't nearly as beautiful on the inside as she hoped it was. It dripped and smelled of rotting wood. Just as well. This place held no magic for her. Deceivingly beautiful on the outside, rotten and broken on the inside. She was fast learning that most things turned out this way. 

                She followed wordlessly as Lucius descended a number of steps into the lower reaches of the structure. There were crypts all around her. She was free to shudder all she wanted as Lucius wouldn't suspect her in the dark. She pulled her cloak around her. It was almost as cold down here as it was when dementors were present. 

                Lucius brought out a small gold chain from inside the collar of his shirt. A Time-Turner. That was why he needed the book that he had Draco take from her. Or was it something else that he needed from the book?

                She stayed back out of the light as he began searching for something. As she backed away, her foot crunched against something on the ground. She bent to examine it. It was a letter written on oilskin in an ancient and delicate hand. What was astonishing was the subject that it had been addressed to. The letter said in a clearly feminine hand, _Virginia_. She was in no doubt to whom this letter was intended to reach. She shoved it in the pocket of her cloak and stood quickly as Lucius turned to her. He had maneuvered the door of a secret passage open somehow. Perhaps this was the way that he was moving undetected through the inner bailey of Hufflepuff castle, she thought, a secret entryway. 

                "Come," he demanded, holding a hand out to her which she took. Pulling her closer to him, he placed the fine chain around the both of their necks. 

                Out in the clean air of a hundred years ago, Imogen breathed deeply, composing herself for what she knew was to follow. She would meet Eowyn. 

                She noticed with some alarm the number of men, huge men, in the surcoat of the House of Slytherin. She felt the ominous presence of an oncoming battle. And when it did come, it would be huge. 

                "What have you brought me today, Lucius?" a playful, airy voice called to them across the market street. It was the heir of Slytherin, Eowyn. 

                Imogen looked across the way and saw with some surprise that Faramir was at the house that she had seen in the Pensieve with Ginny. She recalled the scene with perfect clarity, the smoking ruins and slaughtered inhabitants. But he was not there. Neither had the infant been there. She remembered specifically that there was only the older girl and boy. This must be Faramir's family. Would they die before all of this was over? Who would want to kill a family of humble potters? Her eyes met him and there was an air of recollection in his. He averted them immediately as he noticed her attire. 

                She flushed with embarrassment. She would appear scantily clad for someone in the middle ages. If she were not with someone capable of her protection, she would certainly have been killed for her brazen lack of clothing. 

                She pulled her cloak tighter around her and reminded herself to take more care in blending in. She moved closer to Lucius and hid behind him, not noticing the venomous look that Eowyn had favored her with. 

                "She has nothing to do with you. She is here on my invitation. I wish to show her our improvements." Lucius looked down his nose at her in that superior way he had. "It is nearly complete. You will have your army in two week's time, no less."

                "Perfect," Eowyn squealed, clapping her hands together like a spoiled child. "I have found my father's plan. They key is a particular child. His, sadly, died in the experiments to open the rip in the fabric." she smiled. "But I have made another one."

                Lucius nodded. He turned to Imogen who walked silently beside them, taking in everything she heard. "I have plans for a pure race, a society living wholly separate from this world here, this tainted and marred world. There is no hope for it." He smiled down at her. "We will rule the whole of it without threat from the troublesome Ministry or interference from the Muggle scum that plagues our current society." 

                "What is your plan, lord?" Imogen asked, infusing enough humility into her voice to do his ego the justice that he thought it deserved. 

                "My clever Eowyn here has toiled endlessly to recover her father's great work. A rip in the fabric of the universe. He found the key to it when he was experimenting with immortality on a child subject. The child, subsequently became the key to another universe. One uninhabited, untainted."

                He turned to the woman on his right hand side. "Which one is it?"

                Eowyn's deep red lips parted into a devilish smile. She pointed to the hut that had filled Imogen's thoughts, the one Faramir's family had inhabited. "The smallest child. His name is Gabriel. You must find his counterpart in your world. It will do you no good to take this one, he is too young."

                Lucius nodded like he knew what this meant. Imogen was lost and helpless to understand. Did they mean Harry? Was he in danger yet again?

                She glanced back at them as her party retreated through the gates of the castle and to the river. She caught Faramir's stare one last time and felt for sure that he knew who she was. 

                "And in exchange for all of this," Lucius continued his explanation. "All young Eowyn wished for was an army that could not be defeated."

                "But why children?" Imogen asked, forgetting for a moment that she had a part to play. She was afraid that she had infused too much passion into her voice, too much worry. Lucius didn't seem to notice. 

                He exchanged a knowing smile with Eowyn who said finally, "I must be off. Remember, Lucius dear, find his counterpart in your world and you shall have the key." She held Imogen's gaze and leaned up to kiss Lucius who was all too happy to oblige. 

                Imogen felt a brief twinge of sympathy for Elena who was dead. Is this what she thought was love? Did she always have to put up with his womanizing? Would Elena have even cared? 

                Lucius watched Eowyn retreat and led Imogen down to the river. "They have souls unlike those of adults. They are blameless, pure. It does not destroy their will, their ability to function as it does adults. Their will is restored to another. Someone can control them and they will fight until they are torn apart. They are loyal and all powerful. No one can stand up to that kind of opposition. Not even the disciplined armies of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. 

                Imogen nodded and effected a cruel smile to cover her mounting terror. 

                It was then that she saw Mungo and Faramir approaching. 

                "Who are you, sir?" Mungo asked. "I have seen you walking the battlements of the mill many times with Lady Eowyn."

                "She is hardly a lady and she is helping me with something that is no affair of yours." Lucius turned to face the two of them. 

                "Refrain from speaking of her thus, sir. She is of noble blood and therefore you will watch your tongue." Faramir spoke forcefully for his size. Lucius was nearly a head taller than him. Faramir was no older than Harry, but Imogen was in no doubt of his skill with the sword. She was occupied with deciding who would come out on top in a duel—Lucius was no less experienced. 

                Mungo turned his gaze on Imogen as Faramir and Lucius argued. 

                "I know you, lady," he said. The color of his face changed into a white that was alarming as he looked closer and saw the same something that Faramir had. Imogen wondered faintly what had given her away. "Are you a traitor then?" he asked. Imogen swallowed hard. 

                "Yes, were are both here in search of riches and unnatural long life," Lucius sneered, nearing Faramir menacingly. Faramir reached for his sword, the sword of Gryffindor, but was stayed by Mungo. 

                "You speak blasphemy, sir," Mungo said, raising his chin defiantly. 

                "Fluently," Lucius said with a wicked smile. 

                "Tell me what your business is with the Lady Eowyn," Mungo demanded. 

                "She goes there, sir. Why do you not inquire of her what her business is with me?" Lucius said, subverting further conversation. 

                Faramir backed down slowly and turned to walk away. He stopped at the gates to observe Mungo who headed after Eowyn and then he watched as the hooded monk grabbed the traitorous raven-haired girl and forcefully hauled her into the forging mill. 

                "How is it that Mungo Hufflepuff and the squire of Godric Gryffindor know who you are?" Lucius hissed when they were safely inside the mill. He didn't allow her the chance to answer, but struck her hard across the face, causing her nose to bleed. "Been spying on me, have you?" He hit her again across her already bruised cheek. 

                "No, lord. You have it all wrong," Imogen begged, reaching for her necklace with the portkey on it. 

                Lucius beat her to it, savagely ripping it from her neck, she felt the skin on the back of her neck rip with the force of the chain. She let out a cry but bit it back in the next instant. "What is this? A portkey?" he asked, crushing it under his boot. "Informing, are you?"

                She shook her head pathetically. She was trapped now. He considered her for another moment, staring proudly at his handiwork of cuts and bruises to her face. He held her tight in strong hands but she made no effort to get away. "No, it's a disguise is it?" His eyes lit with realization. "I've seen you here before. You are that little wretch that was spying on me with Weasley. Imogen Spencer, you'll be a thorn in my side no longer."

                He slammed her hard into the opposite wall where she connected with a sconce on the wall that held a candle. It hit her between the neck and the shoulder. Imogen heard as well as felt a bone snap. She fell to the ground in excruciating but familiar pain. 

                He kicked her hard in her midsection and caused the breath to be knocked out of her. "Get up, you sad wretch. You've asked for this."

                She did so laboriously. She stood to face him, chest heaving as she struggled to catch her breath. "The Ministry will be onto you in a heartbeat."

                He laugh and struck her again, causing her to crash into the wall once more, the same sconce catching her between the shoulder blades this time. 

                "They are in my pocket. You understand that I'm going to have to kill you, now. I can't have you running back to the do-gooders with all of this information I've given you." Lucius added as he watched her sink to the ground again, a myriad of bruises, broken bones and blood. He smiled down at her, removing his wand from an inner pocket of his robes. 

                "But before I kill you, I would like to know what you have done with Elena," he asked curiously, aiming his wand between her eyes for effect. 

                "I killed her," Imogen answered defiantly. 

                Lucius laughed as he thought that she was joking. "Finite Incantantem!" he said. 

                Imogen was afraid of this. The one side effect to her pill form of Polyjuice was that it acted more like a charm than a potion. Potions, of course could not be removed with this charm. Hers could. 

                He was astonished at the person who looked up at him as her disguise melted away. It wasn't the face of the nuisance Imogen Spencer but that of his daughter, dead for many months now. 

                "Lucilla," Lucius said, endeavoring to mask his astonishment. "Very clever series of disguises. I must say that I am surprised to see you, if not glad or relieved. Why won't you die?"

                Lucy set her chin in insolent defiance. She would not tell. Now she was really trapped. She couldn't even walk. She knew he would kill her now. 

                "The guard at Ravenclaw's castle, Elena? You killed them? Impressive!" Lucius was looking at her, admiringly. It was a way in which she was unused to being regarded by her father and she squirmed a bit under his gaze. "You devious creature. I believe I might have been wrong about you. I was unaware that you were capable of such deeds. Your mother would be sorely disappointed to see how you've turned out."

                The words had their intended effect. They stung like barbs. She winced. It was the truth. "Go on, kill me," she said, her fingers went up to the bracelet that she wore on the wrist behind her back. She remembered the Time-Turner. She had a plan. 

                "Oh no, you've become too valuable. I shall use you instead, if you don't mind," Lucius said with a Cheshire Cat's grin. 

                "I do mind actually," Lucy snapped back. 

                Lucius bent and struck her hard across the face again. This blow had a dizzying effect and she fought for consciousness. "You'll learn some respect first."

                Before Lucius had bent to retrieve her and slip his Time-Turner around her neck, she produced her own to his great surprise. 

                She ended up in the forest, just outside of the ruins. It was growing dark and she knew she was no more safe here than with her father. She fumbled for her bracelet and swallowed one of the pills that would turn her into Imogen, though she was unsure if she could walk either way. Her spine throbbed between her shoulder blades and her breathing was coming harder. The place where her father had kicked her, just below the ribs was stiff with pain. 

                But she stood and kicked her shoes off to run better. She headed in what she thought was the direction of the school. 

                She continued in the prolonged twilight of the setting sun until it was almost night, a prey now to the utter panic, to the age-old fear of the dark, the forest and the unknown. Despite her worries, she felt a violent impulse to rush headlong in any direction and to continue running so long as her strength and breath lasted. But both gave out as she reached the edge of the forest. Collapsing over a tree root, she came crashing to the ground, falling on the tree root that cut into her side. She heard a familiar snap and knew that she had broken one of her ribs. 

                Spots danced in front of her vision and merged with the stationary dot that was the moon. Everything went black as she laid there at the edge of the forest, unconscious and helpless, but safe from her father for the moment. 

*** 

                _"No good sittin' worryin' abou' it," he said, "What's comin' will come,  an' we'll meet it when it does. Dumbledore told me wha' you did, Harry." _

_                Hagrid's chest swelled as he looked at Harry. _

_                "Yeh did as much as yer father would've done, an' I can' give yeh no higher praise than that."_

                Harry looked around the dusty cabin that his first and fondest friend used to inhabit. He looked down at Fang and sighed. "Yeah, I miss him too."

                He pushed the door open, reluctant to leave the old hut and it's fond memories. Fang went out first and ran off into the distance barking wildly. 

                "What do you see, Fang?" Harry asked, locking the door behind him and following Hagrid's hound. "_Jesus!" _he whispered when he came close enough to see that it was a person and that they weren't moving. Upon closer inspection his terror rose. It was Imogen. 

                He dropped to his knees next to her while Fang barked loudly. He shook her and was relieved when she moved slightly. That relief vanished when she began to cough an alarming amount of blood. 

                ***

                Sirius looked out the window into the growing evening. The grounds had a thin fog rolling in from the lake and it looked as though it might snow. 

                He was listening to about only half of what Snape was saying. He had been ranting about insane former convicts and unfit guardians. Sirius knew that he was speaking mainly of him, but he regretted that he was also irate at Arabella. But, he justified, someone had to say something. Arabella's control of Imogen had gone way too far. He only prayed that she would come back safe and unharmed. 

                The irritating part was that Dumbledore seemed to be on Snape's side. But, Sirius rationalized, he did have the interests of his students first and foremost in his mind. 

                If Imogen were harmed in anyway, Sirius doubted he would ever forgive himself. He could have stopped this, he thought. 

                He focused on two small figures on the edge of the forest, a boy and a dog. Was Harry out on the grounds after dark? Sirius felt his parental reservations kick in. But they were replaced but pure terror when he noticed that the two were bent over another figure. At the bare limits of his sight, he could see that it was Imogen and that she wasn't moving. 

                He ran from the room without so much as an explanation, but the other's followed. Maybe they knew what kind of situation would whip him up into a frenzy like that. Maybe they didn't. His only concern was in getting to her while there was still time. 


	13. Not Today

Disclaimer: The children army was my own warped idea. The separation of the souls, etc. were concepts that I shamelessly ganked from Philip Pullman's series _His Dark Materials._ The original characters are mine. The not-so-original characters are Rowling's.

Author's Note: Yep, so Imogen's secret is out. She's Lucy. And, quite frankly, you should have caught on to that before Lucius did. Now comes the part where I explain Faramir and Mungo's blowing her cover—nice goin' boys!

Chapter Thirteen

Not Today

_"It's always been up to you_

_It's turning around _

_It's up to me_

_I'm gonna do what I have to do_

_Just do_

_Give me a little time_

_Leave me alone a little while_

_Maybe it's not too late _

_Not today…"_

_Avril__ Lavigne: 'Tomorrow'_

                Ginny took a deep breath to calm herself and removed the Time-Turner that Imogen had given her the night before. She was frightened to have to go back there alone—without her. But she had to. 

                She placed it around her neck as the sounds of the forest began to creep in around her. She came to the patch in the forest where the trees broke and the ruins of the old Hufflepuff castle sat unknown for centuries. She saw that the sun was very close to setting. She would have to find Mungo and hear what he had to say before it set completely. She had no desire to come back through the Forbidden Forest after nightfall. 

                She took another steadying breath and turned the hourglass-like charm at the end of the fine gold chain. She'd been more careful this time around to pay attention to the layout of the castle and guessed that it she stood in this particular area of the ruins, she would end up in one of the chambers off of the main hall. She had no desire to end up out in the open marketplace again. 

                It just so happened that she had been right. The forest disappeared around her and she found herself face to face in a low lit room with a girl of about her own age. Her face was framed with a white cloth that covered the length of her dark hair. Ginny recognized that face as the one belonging to the girl in the hut on the edge of the marketplace. It was her and her brother that Ginny had seen dead inside that very hut with her parents. Ginny felt a wave of sadness for this girl as she realized what sort of end she was soon to meet. 

                "The Lady Azria is in her rooms," the girl said simply, showing no alarm at Ginny's sudden appearance. 

                "You know who I am?" Ginny asked in bewilderment. 

                "Yes, would you like me to take you to her?" the girl asked, opening the door. They were in a room off of the kitchens. Ginny could feel the waves of heat from the fires. It must be dreadfully miserable in there, she thought briefly. 

                Ginny kept snatching glances at the girl who frankly ignored her. Ginny was beginning to draw a resemblance between this girl and Harry. Her eyes were dark but in every other respect, just like him. "I'm sorry if I seem rude to you but, what's your name?"

                The girl stopped and stared at her, cocking her head slightly. "I'm? What is I'm?"

                Ginny almost smacked her own forehead. She needed to take a little bit more precaution when speaking. Imogen had warned her to refrain from contractions and all other new forms of speech, slang and that. "What I meant to say is what are you called? What is your name?"

                "Ah!" The girl said nodding and then continuing up the stairs. "I am called Claire."

                "I have seen you in town, have I not?" Ginny asked, feeling out an almost comfortable flow in her speech now. 

                "Yes, at the house of my parents. They are potters there. I work here in the kitchens. And the oldest of my brothers—," Claire began. 

                "Faramir?" Ginny asked. It was becoming painfully clear to her that this was what Hermione had been telling her about. If only she had paid attention to what she had been saying. It was some vague story of how Isaiah and Faramir's feud over the sword of Gryffindor culminated in Faramir's exile and the murder of his family by Isaiah. Ginny wondered how much of this could be true. She knew they would die. She had seen it herself. But, Isaiah, though rash and quick to action, seemed far more noble than to hack an entire family apart. But, she reasoned, it was the Middle Ages. A foreign place and time to her modern sensibilities. 

                "Yes, my brother Faramir is the squire to our late Lord Gryffindor." Claire stopped again and eyed Ginny. "Why do you stare thus? Have I offended you?"

                "Oh. No. No, you haven't…have not. I was just thinking. Sorry," Ginny stammered. 

                Claire still leveled a suspicious but very humble stare at her as she opened a door and announced Ginny's presence to someone inside. "Then, good day to you, lady," Claire said with a bow. 

                Ginny said nothing but all the while watched the girl with a sorrowful gaze. Fate was cruel. Ginny had never seen any proof to the contrary. She thought of Harry and how his family had been taken from him. Faramir was no different—only a lot more people would be taken from him, not just a mother and father but brothers and a sister. She was a sweet girl, very kind. Ginny watched her leave, thinking that history could not be stopped from repeating itself in this nonsensical, offhand way. She cursed her gift. No one should have to know the things that she knew. 

                "I know what it is that you are thinking," a soft voice said from across the room. 

                Ginny stepped further in and saw that it was Azria that had spoken. "It is a curse. The knowledge that you gain from this power does not help. It just makes you aware."

                "Yes, but," Ginny tried to adjust her thoughts.

                "You want to help them. Warn them. You cannot. Fate has its way. There is no way to intervene." Azria's expression darkened considerably, "Believe me child. I have tried. I see things to come, horrible things. Things that you will be part of, the people I love will be a part of. Things happen as they will."

                "But," Ginny said, finding her voice, "They can. We changed things, the chosen ones. We defeated Voldemort and changed things."

                "No, child." Azria spoke in a sad but authoritative tone. "You fulfilled your duty. You were always the victors as long as you have been in existence. Fate chose you to win. Fate chose others to lose."

                Ginny nodded hopelessly. Somewhere deep inside of her she knew that this was true. 

                A knock at the door brought an end to their conversation as Maren entered timidly at the side of Mungo and Galahad. Maren and Galahad looked almost similar in dress. Ginny imagined that they might have been out on a hunt or some other adventure. She admired Maren and her willingness to break through the female stigma of the period. Where Ginny thought that only censure could be had by such actions, Maren seemed to be highly respected by everyone. Ginny wished that she were somewhat like her. Ron, especially, was always saying that she couldn't handle certain things because she was too young or some other lame excuse. Maren seemed to take none of those excuses that were always heaped on Ginny. 

                Mungo was dressed in his usual monk's habit. He struck Ginny as a real academic and yet, he was always around Galahad who, though intelligent enough, seemed to be the type that would not allow himself to be tied down in scholarly pursuits. 

                "Virginia," Azria said as the others came in. "We have something very important to tell you of your companion that accompanied you last time."

                "Imogen?" Ginny asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. 

                "Yes, that very girl," Azria said. Ginny thought that she detected a hint of the accusing in her voice. 

                "She's my friend. She is nothing to worry about," Ginny said, defending Imogen vehemently. 

                "She is not what she seems. She is not," Azria stopped and stood. "Mungo, would you? Please?" 

                Ginny watched Azria for a moment. She seemed to turn pale and looked like she might be sick. She excused herself from the room and left. 

                A short while later, Maren stood and went to attend Azria. 

                Ginny left with Galahad and Mungo who invited her to stroll the battlements. Mungo had said that there was something that he wanted to show her. 

                "We have reason to believe that your companion is not who she claims she is. She is hiding. Azria has a way of seeing these things and we trust her judgment," Mungo continued when they reached the fresh air of the castles battlements. The restored mill bridge stretched out over the river to her right and just beyond that, Hogwarts castle loomed ominously against the sunset. 

                Ginny looked down over the market in the outer bailey, her breath constricting when she saw three familiar figures strolling toward the gate. 

                One was the deceptively beautiful snake Eowyn Slytherin and next to her was Lucius Malfoy. Ginny wasn't in the least surprised to see these two together. She knew that they had been collaborating on something. The one person that she was startled to see was Elena Vassikin, following slightly behind the other two looking very nervous and timid. Ginny's first thought was that this was indeed out of character for such a conniving murderer. This was the very same person who was credited with the murder of Lucy Malfoy and just after that she had mysteriously disappeared as Lucius had. She was not at all surprised, when she thought about it, that she would turn up eventually. 

                "Virginia?" Mungo asked tentatively. 

                Galahad was carefully scanning the crowd below as she was doing and had spotted the same party she had. 

                "Hmm?" Ginny asked, caught off guard by the voice that brought her back from her musings. 

                "That is her. Azria saw a woman of that very description in her visions. That is your friend Imogen." Mungo stepped up to the battlements next to her and Galahad and pointed down to where Ginny was watching Elena fiddle nervously with a bracelet on her left wrist. Even from this height, Ginny thought she recognized that piece of jewelry somehow. 

                "Mungo," Galahad said, cutting their conversation off. 

                Ginny was still skeptical. Imogen has nothing to do with Elena. 

                Mungo left Ginny's side to speak with Galahad. "Faramir is eager to speak with you," Galahad said, pointing to another figure that was gesturing to them from the bailey yard. 

                "I better see to him then," Mungo said urgently. 

                As Mungo excused himself and left for the marketplace below, Galahad held out his arm chivalrously to Ginny who took it, stunned. She didn't know what to make of what she was just told. It made no sense. She knew Imogen better than any of them did. She wouldn't. She wouldn't dare. Lucius Malfoy was dangerous. She wouldn't even entertain the idea that Imogen was spying for the other side. 

                She could _trust _her, she knew this. They've gotten it wrong. 

                "Why are you silent, lady?" Galahad asked as they made their way back up to Azria's room. 

                "It's not the way you say. She wouldn't inform against us. There's got to be something that we're missing." Ginny sank back into her thoughts and didn't hear Galahad's next comment, "Lady Azria has spoken and she is very wise."

                Ginny kept reviewing the facts. Imogen had been a student there since her fourth year. She was a Slytherin, but had always acted nobly. Those were just stereotypes anyway. Houses had never characterized the students correctly. It was flimsy evidence to convict on. She stopped suddenly, a flush of terror rising in her cheeks. "It's Lucy," she said in a whisper more than a voice. 

                "Pardon, lady?" Galahad said, stopping next to her, eyeing her warily. 

                "Oh, God!" Ginny said, clapping a hand over her mouth. "It's Lucy. Imogen doesn't play the cello, but she has calluses on her fingers like a cellist. She must have killed Elena and disguised herself like her in Ravenclaw castle. Then it's Elena who—," Ginny's eyes were glossed over with rapid thought. Despite the cold evening chill, she felt her temperature rise with fear for her friend. "Where is Mungo?" she asked urgently of Galahad. 

                "He's gone with Faramir to silence that treacherous man who plots with Lady Eowyn."

                "No!" Ginny screamed, running to a window where she saw Mungo heading off after Eowyn. Elena was dragged to the mill by Lucius roughly. "No!" Ginny shouted again. She turned to Galahad. "Did he just accuse her? Did he make recognition of her at all?" 

                "I assume he did, lady. We will not tolerate Eowyn's spies." Galahad took a tentative step toward her. "Are you feeling well?"

                "Yes!" Ginny snapped urgently. "You've just killed her. He'll kill her!"

                "Who, lady?" Galahad asked with a dashingly furrowed brow. 

                "Lucy! It's Ravenclaw's chosen one. That man in the cowl," she pointed to where Lucius just disappeared with Elena. "He's going to kill her now that they've given her away!"

                Realization of what Ginny was ranting about dawned on Galahad's face. "Wait here," he commanded and then charged off in the direction of the bailey and then the mill beyond that. 

                Ginny entered the room where Maren and Azria sat serenely. Ginny fought for calm and ignored their questions. She thought that at least Azria deserved to remain in the dark a little while after her presumptions that might cost Lucy her life. 

She stood at a window over looking the mill and prayed as she watched Faramir and Galahad enter with broadswords drawn. 

                It was Lucy. She knew that this was insane. Her cellists' hands. That bracelet. Ginny had seen Lucy with it when she first met her on the Norman Coast. Her heart beat in anticipation. She wanted to be right. She wanted Lucy to be alive. She hoped that Galahad and Faramir could get to her. She hoped…

                But she saw both men emerge from the mill and sheath their swords in defeat. Was she dead then?

                Ginny's heart pounded, her breaths came laboriously. She spurned all questions that Azria and Maren ventured. 

                Finally, Galahad and Faramir appeared in the doorway. Ginny pushed herself away from the window and ran to them. "Was she there? Where is she?"

                "She was not there, lady," Galahad answered calmly. 

                "What? Dead?" Ginny asked breathlessly. 

                "No. Gone, lady," Faramir ventured. 

                "Gone?" Ginny asked wide eyed. Then: "The Time-Turner!" Imogen had one. Perhaps she had used it to escape. Ginny hoped that she had escaped. 

                "I have to go," Ginny said, quickly removing her Time-Turner and disappearing in the next moment. 

***

                "I'll go for help," Harry said in a strained voice. 

                Imogen clutched his collar and shook her head, frightened but unable to speak. 

                "You have to help me. I don't know what to do, Imogen," Harry said desperately. He dared not move her. Her injuries looked far too extensive and blood was still streaming from her mouth. She locked eyes with him, frightened, hollowed eyes that begged him not to leave her. 

                He heard the sound of a twig snap, but could not look away from her. 

                "Oh no!" he heard Ginny gasp as she dropped beside him. He vaguely wondered where she had come from, but was more concerned at the moment with Imogen who was passing into unconsciousness again. 

                "Ginny, go get help," Harry said frantically as Imogen's eyes rolled back into her head which dropped heavily against his chest. 

                She nodded and raced off immediately. 

                She ran, though she had been running quite a way before that. She had run from the forest which was already dark and teeming with the creatures of night, but she ran harder now. Not with the zeal of self preservation but with the thought that her speed, her exertion could very well save someone better than her, braver, more noble. Lucy couldn't die tonight. Though she very well looked like she might. Ginny knew from some deep recess inside of her that Lucy would make it. She has proven that she could do so on several occasions. 

                As she thought all of these thoughts she was crashing through the heavy front doors of the school. Upon entering the corridor just outside of the Great Hall, Ginny smacked hard into someone that was rushing equally as fast as she in the opposite direction. It was Professor Snape. Just behind him was Sirius and Professor Dumbledore. 

                Ginny ventured to speak, gesturing wildly, but could not manage enough breath to speak actual words. 

                Professor Snape grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her as the other two rushed past him and out the doors. 

                Deftly, Ginny shook free of his grasp and turned, running after the other two, who had apparently already been acquainted with the situation and knew exactly where they would find Harry and Imogen. 

                She stood on the steps at the front of the school and waited for what seemed like interminable minutes. Snape was beside her, but she hardly noticed this. 

                She noticed nothing else but the scene that unfolded in slow motion in front of her. She didn't know why, but at that moment she clenched her teeth and under her breath seethed, "Harry, you idiot! You did this!" It was something that she would have never uttered in the range of hearing of any other human being. She never reproached people that severely for things that they couldn't have possibly been aware of. But it wasn't necessarily unwarranted in her opinion. 

                She watched with painful breaths as Sirius bent to lift the frighteningly limp and small body of Imogen from Harry's very reluctant arms. He had immediately turned back toward the school. Dumbledore was a little more reluctant, stopping to help Harry from his knees. He seemed to be urging him on. Harry seemed very unwilling to follow. 

                Ginny shook her head spitefully, feeling hot tears brimming her eyes. 

                "Come, Miss Weasley. I must know what's going on here. I know that you are the most capable person to answer my questions." Snape's voice was cold and, seemingly unfeeling to Ginny's ears. 

                "I'm not leaving until I know she's all right," Ginny said, spurning his questions with immovable firmness. 

                "There is nothing more you can do for her. You may see her when we are finished, however. That is, if Madam Pomfrey permits it," Snape said with more authority than Ginny was capable of ignoring. 

                She nodded solemnly and followed him in after she watched with sick terror as Sirius moved past them and up to the infirmary. 

                Harry and Dumbledore followed less urgently. 

                That's right, Ginny thought uncharitably, excuse it all away for him, Dumbledore. Let him know what a hero he was for being there first. He should have never dragged her through the mud the way he did. He gave her no other choice. This was why Ginny reckoned that she went after Lucius Malfoy. Harry had made her feel like she was better for nothing else than to die. Her father had thought her better for nothing else. 

                Ginny seethed quietly all the way down to Snape's office. She should have never talked to Harry this afternoon. Everything she had told him then, she supposed, was true. Now she doubted it all. 

***

                 Harry followed Professor Dumbledore and Sirius into the hallway outside of the infirmary. Sirius was pacing madly and Harry tried not to look at him. Watching his erratic behavior only heightened Harry's unease. She might die tonight knowing only what Harry had told her when he'd last seen her that morning; he didn't love her. It was a lie. He was never happier around any other person. She brightened his world. If he had had a chance with Lucy he might feel the same way. He felt that way for a little while. But then she died. But, Harry hadn't ceased to be when she had left his world. It was somewhere in the unknown, unexplored depths of him, the will to go on because he still had some one. Some one who wanted him, who would love him. Lucy might love him if she were still here. But Imogen was here and did love him. Why wasn't it good enough for him?

Would it be desperately dark and empty if she left him now? Would she want to leave him here out of spite? He certainly deserved it. 

                He stared at Dumbledore who leaned on his cane and stared back. It continued some minutes like this until Madam Pomfrey came out, her white robes streaked with blood in a very macabre way. She brushed a gray whip of hair from her face and asked for Dumbledore and Sirius to follow her. Obediently, both trailed after her and she shut the door. 

                Harry was alone. 

                Desperate as he was to know of Imogen's condition, where she had been, who had attacked her, he couldn't find the voice to ask these questions. He knew no one had a ready answer for him anyway. 

                He was left to his thoughts: a torture so acute that Harry found himself unable to stand and endure at the same time. Without bothering to find a seat, Harry sat right on the floor in the hallway and thought. 

                He thought of the incredibly brave way she had handled his words. He was severely blunt and unfeeling with her. She had just confessed that she loved him and he threw it back in her face. For what? And then he left her there. He had walked away. 

                He was afraid. He was afraid to let her into his life. He was afraid that she wouldn't understand him. He was afraid that if he let her in, she wouldn't love him the same way anymore. He had killed. He had seen things in his life that no one his age should ever have to see. If he were honest with himself, he would have to admit that he didn't want her to reject him—hurt him. So, he hurt her first. And he hated himself for that. 

***  

                "Imogen has been informing for Mrs. Figg this entire semester as I understand it. It was her suggestion that Imogen pose as former Death Eater, Elena Vassikin. She apparently believed that there might be something to gain from this for the stay of execution that they hope to secure for Peter Pettigrew." Snape stopped and looked Ginny in the eye. He was very intrigued by the way she nodded. She was evidently not surprised and definitely, as he suspected, knew much. "What I'm keen to know is why Imogen consented to this? How she became involved? Do you have any light to shed on this, Miss Weasley?" 

                Ginny hesitated only slightly, but after seeing what Lucy or Imogen had been through tonight, she wasn't exactly in the mood to with hold much. "She's Lucy Malfoy."

                Snape was speechless for a moment. "How can that be?" he asked finally. "Miss Malfoy has been dead for nearly four months."

                "Your the Potions Master. I would have thought that you could tell me," Ginny said insolently. She knew she was right—she couldn't explain how, though.

                "Polyjuice Potion?" Snape asked. "How would she have escaped Elena Vassikin. She's a very capable assassin. With all due respect to the dead, I think she was more than capable of handling a fourteen year old who was also paralyzed."

                "She's alive. I don't care if you think this is a joke. If you don't believe me on this point, who's to say you'll believe anything else I say?" Ginny rose to her feet indignantly. 

                "Miss Weasley, I'm not finished!" Snape shouted. 

                "I am!" Ginny shouted back, slamming the door behind her. 

***

                Sirius watched as Madam Pomfrey bustled nervously about the infirmary. He felt Dumbledore's presence beside him. He wondered vaguely if the Headmaster felt the same way Professor Snape did—that this was mostly his error. Sirius felt this way. He could have stopped Arabella. Why hadn't he?

                Madam Pomfrey broke quietly into his reveries, asking for both the professor and him to have a seat in her small office. 

                "How is Miss Spencer?" Dumbledore asked. Sirius would have done, if he could find his voice. He was good for nothing more at the moment than taking up space. 

                "Oh, don't worry about her. She's resting now," the nurse said in a would-be cheerful tone. "What I wanted to talk to you gentlemen about might sound very alarming. Indeed, I am quite baffled myself as to how she…well, I best just come out with it," Madam Pomfrey hesitated. 

                "Maybe you should, Poppy," Dumbledore said patiently. 

                Sirius wondered at him with envy. How could he remain so calm? 

                "Imogen Spencer is not Imogen Spencer." The elderly witch brushed her hair out of her face nervously and continued explaining to her rapt audience. "The types of anti-curse spells that I use—standard procedure on all cases of unconsciousness—take off any magical effects on the patient's body, whether that be a hex, curse, charm or potion." As she spoke the last word, she looked solemnly at the two of them. "Miss Spencer has been assuming the identity of Miss Spencer since her enrollment here when, in fact, she is someone entirely different."

                "Who do you think she might be then, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked with curiosity. 

                Sirius' mind was reeling. Did Arabella know this? Was this her spy? Posing as a Hogwarts student? For what purposes? He was becoming angry. Had she been lying to him the entire time?

                "I was hoping, Headmaster, that you could clarify that point for me. I will need to know for hospital records and all." Madam Pomfrey stood, more composed, and walked to the door. 

                Sirius followed her out along with Dumbledore. 

                Slowly moving the curtains back, the nurse ushered both of them into a partitioned area where Imogen was sleeping soundly. Only this girl, bruised around the face, was not Imogen as Sirius knew her. Indeed, he recognized the face but not in the girl he now saw. It was Dale's face, but in a smaller, broken body. She looked far more helpless as she lay in that hospital bed, surrounded by hospital gadgets. His breath constricted audibly as the floor seemed to drop from underneath him. How could he have let this happen to Dale's child? To any child?

                "Is this Lucius Malfoy's daughter?" Dumbledore asked, moving forward and adjusting his glasses as if to see her better. He placed a tentative hand on her cool forehead and brushed a matted curl away from her cheek, revealing a livid mark made by a sharp piece of jewelry—perhaps a ring. 

                "Lucilla Malfoy," Sirius clarified, finding a seat and dropping heavily into it. 

                Madam Pomfrey jotted this down on a piece of parchment and then banished it to her office. She busied herself with fussing over the sleeping girl, adjusting her covers and posing more questions to her two companions. "A student here?" 

                "I believe she was enrolled at Beauxbatons. But this intriguing little creature has been dead for months," Dumbledore informed her, his eyes twinkling at this new enigma.  

                Madam Pomfrey, engaged in checking the pulse of one tiny wrist, dropped it immediately at this and stared at the Headmaster. "Dead?" she questioned breathlessly. 

                "She was killed, murdered by Elena Vassikin, this summer at Ravenclaw castle." Sirius swallowed hard, "There was a body."

                "Just exactly who's body was it?" Madame Pomfrey asked, scandalized. 

                Sirius shrugged and Dumbledore shook his head, perplexed. 

                "How is she. Was she badly hurt?" Sirius asked with worry furrowing his brow. He might have been mistaken as a frantic parent if he weren't among people he knew well. 

                "She's suffered some broken bones, fractured rib, collar bone, a couple of vertebrae. There was some pretty nasty internal bleeding. But that's stopped. She'll recover physically, but…" the nurse shrugged and favored her patient with a sorrowful glance. "I don't know what sort of state she'll be in mentally when she wakes. She was conscious of a few minutes earlier. She said some awfully curious things though."

                "Such as?" Sirius asked urgently. 

                "Well, she mentioned Lucius, her father. And she also said to tell Peter that she is sorry," Madam Pomfrey said with a shrug and turned to leave. "I think she ought to rest in peace for a while. Professor, Mr. Black, thank you for your help."

                She showed them out into the hallway of the infirmary where they were met with a scene they were not expecting. 

***

                Arabella figured that Hogwarts would be the place that Imogen would turn up if she refused to come back to the house after her job. She understood the girl's anger with her. But Lucy was no ordinary child—which justified Arabella's treatment of her. She was willful, but capable. She knew the ways of her father better than the best of Arabella's team. She'd already been up against a hardened and dangerous Death Eater Assassin and lived. Arabella was confident in her capabilities. But she was still nervous for her. She was well aware of the girl's father and his attempts to kill her in the past. If she was found out…no! Arabella would not see that possibility yet, not while uncertainty still hung in the air, hopeful uncertainty. 

                She saw a girl, red headed and fiery, stomping madly from the lower levels of the school. She recognized her from her days teaching here as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. She called out to her. "Miss Weasley."

                The girl turned impatiently and said nothing. Recognition dawned on her face, but she didn't seem to be surprised. 

                "Do you know where I might find the Headmaster, or Professor Snape?" Arabella asked, approaching the girl. 

                "Professor Dumbledore is in the infirmary, I imagine." The girl spoke in harsh and impatient tones, turning up the stairs without a further comment. 

                Arabella followed. A wave of foreboding washed over her. Why would the Headmaster be in the infirmary? She doubled her pace, just keeping up with the hassled Weasley girl. 

                As they both rounded the corner and came to the infirmary corridor Arabella stopped to stare at a curious figure sitting on the ground and staring out into the space beyond the pristine white walls of the hall. It was Harry and he looked as guilty as Judas and twice as morose. She continued down the corridor and past the stoic Harry, turning only briefly to note the violent way Miss Weasley had removed her cloak and chucked it at the boy on the floor, shouting, "You cruel, unfeeling—," all else was lost as Arabella smacked right into Sirius Black exiting the infirmary in a cloud of dazed confusion. 

                Sirius looked on passively as Ginny assaulted Harry on the ground who was in turn motionless and expressionless. Then he focused on Arabella, moments later asking, "What have you done?"

                Ginny left off scolding Harry who seemed not to care one way or the other. She pushed past Sirius and Arabella toward the infirmary doors where she was stopped by Dumbledore. 

                "Let me go," she hissed at him. 

                In as even a tone as he ever had the Headmaster looked down at her and said, "I'm afraid, Miss Weasley, that she is unfit for visitors right now."

                "I know everything," Ginny said, pushing past the man who would not impede her further and through the doors. 

                Harry watched everything that passed before him with immovable features. He slowly took the cloak that Ginny threw spitefully at him and folded it, tucking it under one arm. He stood and watched Arabella and Sirius in whispered conversation. 

                He saw Ginny and Dumbledore at the infirmary door. She snapped, "I know everything," and pushed past. Harry wondered briefly what she knew. 

                As if things couldn't get any more surreal, a short, thin man in glasses rushed around the corner. Harry recognized the man as one of Sirius' associates, Glenn Corbin. 

                He rushed past Harry and straight to Sirius and Arabella. "Grey's got the execution pushed up. Peter has consented. I don't know what you can d…just come!" he said hurriedly. 

                Sirius swore and Arabella paled. Both hesitated a moment and then followed Corbin down the corridor and out of the school. Harry shook his head. When had everything stopped looking like life and more resembling an Avant Garde film that he was failing at understanding in the least?

***

                Ginny walked silently into the room and tentatively drew back the curtains. She was met with the face of her guilt. It was Lucy. She was alive. 

                Gently, she drew one of Lucy's small hands into her own and kissed it lightly. "I'm so sorry. I know that you have been trying to tell me." She began to cry. "Forgive me for wrapping you up in this. For not noticing it. It's my fault."

                She pulled a chair up to the bed and rested her head on the sheets next to Lucy. She wondered if this girl resembled, in any small way, the one that Draco sat beside and held the hand of when her father had beat her and paralyzed her nearly three years ago. Perhaps the Lucy whose hand Ginny held now was a little stronger, a little more callused by experienced. 

                She heard the deep and pained intake of breathing next to her. Lucy stirred. Opening her eyes to find Ginny there, she attempted a small smile. 

                "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I was trying to tell them—," Ginny began, tears still streaming down her face as she tried to explain. 

                Lucy reached up to dry her friend's tears and said, "You have nothing to be sorry about, Ginny. I had to do this…for a friend…but I failed." Her words were harsh and regretful, "But, I failed. I always fail." She gingerly moved her neck and winced. "Do they all know? Harry?"

                "No, Lucy. Harry doesn't know."

                "Hand me my bracelet," Lucy asked, indicating the silver one with stones of sapphire and emerald. The one Ginny had seen her wear as Imogen, Lucy and Elena. How had she missed that?

                Ginny did so. 

                "This is how I did it," Lucy said, removing a pill from her bracelet, under an emerald. She popped it and waited. Minutes later it was Imogen who stared back at her. 

                "But, your injuries…" Ginny said. 

                Imogen nodded. "They stay with you. Scars do to."

                "That's how you escaped Elena." 

                "Yes."

                "But, you…you're…" Ginny began. 

                "Paralyzed?" Imogen asked, pushing herself up a little. Ginny helped her, out of habit. She missed helping in the infirmary. She nodded shamefully and didn't look at Imogen. 

                "It's my own formula of Polyjuice. I've made it pill form for easier use. It's also a genetic enhancement more than a strict Polyjuice. Imogen never existed. I created her. Specified the genetics myself. She can walk because her spine was never damaged. Lucy's was, but Lucy is different. A different person, really. It's complicated. I'll let you see my notes, if you like."

                "I'm so glad it's you," Ginny said in a whisper, covering her mouth with a hand. 

                "Of course it's me, Ginny," she said. Imogen stopped smiling and stared at Ginny who was staring back in disbelief. "What's the matter, Ginny?"

                "Does Draco know?" Ginny asked, already knowing the answer. 

                "I'll tell him eventually," Imogen said with a guilty frown. "He has other things to deal with at the moment."

                "And Harry?" Ginny asked. 

                "No, I can't tell him yet." Imogen bit her lip. "Could I see him?"

                "Yes, of course," Ginny said, rising to get him for her. She left immediately, her ill feelings toward him fading a little as relief replaced them. 

                She stepped out into the corridor where Harry was once again alone. "She wants to see you," Ginny said. 

                Harry said nothing but rose from his spot on the ground, handing Ginny's cloak back to her. An unspoken agreement passed between them in which Harry admitted to being an unforgiving prat and Ginny apologized for taking out the stress of the situation on him. 

                Taking the cloak, Ginny pulled Harry into an embrace that spoke all of this without words. 

                Harry smiled and went in to see Imogen. Ginny yawned and dragged her tired body up to Gryffindor Tower where she would try to sleep unsuccessfully. 

***

                There was a team of Hit Wizards surrounding the cell, decked out in the typically unnecessary gear of their kind. Each was packing a wand with enough specialized hexes to finish of the whole of the island in seconds and a Muggle automatic sidearm. Minister Grey stood in the midst of these thugs with a smile of pleasure on his face. 

                Sirius and Arabella arrived in time to witness the last rights. 

                "What is going on here?" Sirius challenged, moving toward Grey menacingly. Two Hit Wizards blocked his progress deftly. 

                "He asked for his execution to be moved up and we obliged." Grey crossed his arms in front of him with a satisfied air. 

                "He cannot do that without going through the proper channels," Sirius said. 

                Arabella was silent behind him. 

                "We thought we might make an exception in his case," Dorothy Fudge chimed in from behind them. He turned to face her and glared. He might have known that it was she who had organized this. 

                "No. He's not dying today!" Sirius said. He could make no sense of his thoughts. Everything logical was fast slipping through his grasp. 

                "I am, Sirius," Peter said decidedly. 

                Sirius and Arabella turned astonished glances on him. "James wouldn't want you to die, Remus wouldn't," Sirius admitted. He doubted that he'd ever said this to Peter. But it was the truth. There had been too much killing, too much dying. It would end today if Sirius had his way. 

                "Did anyone care about my husband's wishes?" Dorothy asked in a stern voice. 

                "Did he care about anyone? You know the answer to that, Dorothy. Everything was second to his precious publicity." Sirius favored her with a cold stare. 

                She made no reply, but spoke instead to one of the Hit Wizards nearest Peter. "Bind him. Let's get this over with."

                "No!" Sirius said, moving through the opened door of the cell. The Hit Wizard had begun to bind him but stopped, holding him securely by one arm—the silver handed one. 

                "Sirius, don't make a scene. That little girl saved me. And she's alive. I can die with one person in the world who believes in my innocence. I'm not afraid to die anymore," Peter explained with a frightening light in his eyes. It was a light of hope, but seemed odd and out of place in those cold dull eyes. 

                "You cannot leave me!" Arabella called out. 

                Peter favored her with an understanding smile. He turned to Sirius and with eerie calm continued, "Please take care of her for me. Tell Harry that I'm sorry. He won't accept it, I know. But tell him anyway. Goodbye, Sirius." He made one sharp move that the Hit Wizard holding his arm had not expected. He reached for the gun at his hip and put it to his head. 

                Before the other Hit Wizards could draw their wands and before Sirius could shout for Peter not to do this, he heard the click of the safety and then Peter pulled the trigger. 

                As if in gruesome slow motion, Sirius saw it all. Arabella's horrified screams rung in his ears as Peter slowly fell to the floor of his cell. 

                And it was over as quick as that. 

***

                Harry came in and visibly shuddered as he saw the wounds of Imogen's face. He sat beside her, looking very guilty. The two of them did not speak. Harry didn't know what to say after all of this. The last words he spoke to her rung in his ears. He cringed at his coldness. 

                She didn't know what to say. She couldn't explain this. She didn't want to lie…and she wouldn't. If she couldn't tell the truth, then she wouldn't say anything. She still had no voice left after witnessing the things she had. How could she explain that? Human speech could only express what the mind could hold. She still wasn't able to bend her mind around what her father had shown her. 

                Harry watched as her eyes began to brim with tears. He felt helpless. He could do nothing—say nothing. He could only hold her hand and sit with her. But if it was all he could do, he would do it. 

                Harry's eyes wandered to the window that was fast covering with snow. The first vestiges of dawn peeked over the mountains at the limits of his vision. Look at that, he thought, it's almost dawn. And he thought that the sun would not even want to rise today. He was happy to be wrong. 

***

                Sirius left Arabella with Snape who met them at the entrance of the school. She had been hysterical the entire way. Sirius was worried about her but numbed further into not caring by what he had just witnessed. The last of his best of friends, lifetime friends, had just taken his own life after taking the lives of the other two. He was all that was left of their band of brothers. He didn't deserve to be the survivor. James deserved to see his son grow up, Remus deserved much more than this cruel world ever allowed him, Peter…well, Peter deserved everything he got. But Sirius couldn't help but wishing that it could have all turned out differently. 

                _It was Christmas morning. They spent it this way every year, opening presents in their room. Later there would be a large snow fight in which Peter and Remus would be completely annihilated as usual. _

_                Sirius was ripping through his packages with the zeal of a healthily selfish boy. James had given him a Puddlemere United shirt and Remus had given him an entire collection of Dickens. As he ripped through the last of the packages, Peter looked on with growing impatience. "Come on! Just rip through it. You open presents like a girl, Sirius!" he had shouted. _

_                Sirius tore through the paper with a satisfying rip. He looked down, astonished by Peter's gift. James and Remus had been opening the same gift from Peter. All three of them paused and stared at him with open mouths. Inside of the small box was a ring. James and Remus had had similar gifts. _

_                Peter was still smiling like a fool. "Well?"_

_                "Well…" Sirius said, shaking his head with disbelief, "It's wonderful, Peter."_

_                As he pulled it out of the cotton wool, Sirius noticed that it had a "P" inscribed on it. _

_                "It's got the initial of each of our names inscribed on them—," Peter explained excitedly. _

_                James interrupted, favoring his with a scrutinizing glare, "Er, Peter…I know you're not the sharpest tack on the board and all, but you know that James starts with a "J" and not a "P", don't you?"_

_                Peter blushed and looked down at his knees. _

_                "No, James. "P" is for Prongs," Remus said evenly, admiring his own ring. _

_                "Don't lose them. As long as we each have our rings, we'll be friends forever," Peter continued proudly, "I have one too."_

_                "Wow! Peter, that's great!" Remus said. "But, it's too much. We couldn't…it must've taken you months of mop duty at the Owl Post to get these." Remus favored him with an appreciative smile. Peter beamed. _

_                "Two and a half exactly," he admitted. _

_                "Peter, this is just about the best gift I ever got!" Sirius said, slipping his on and admiring it. _

_                "You don't really believe that these rings are what will hold our friendship together, do you?" James asked incredulously, setting his aside and turning to the other packages left to open on his bed. _

_                "That's what the man at the charms store told me when I bought them," Peter said, unaffected by the skepticism. _

_                "It's great. Thanks, Peter," Sirius said, covering for James' ungratefulness. Didn't he realize how hard Peter had worked to give this to him? It was definitely better than a shirt. It meant quite a lot more, as well. _

_                Sirius twirled the ring unconsciously around his finger. He had thought many times about getting rid of it. It obviously worked just a well as James thought it would. He had been the first to lose his. He had been drunk at his bachelor's party and let it slip down a storm drain. He had spent painstaking effort in covering for Peter's sake. _

                He hadn't known as Sirius had that Peter realized that same night that it was missing. 

                Sirius was sure it would be the hardest thing to part with now, this ring. 

                He took a deep breath and entered the infirmary. This would be just as hard. He had no idea what kind of a relationship Lucy'd had with Peter, but it had changed him. He thought she ought to hear about his death from him, though he had no idea how to tell her. How would he tell Harry?

                They were both sitting there when he entered. Two pairs of eyes stared at him expectantly. One pair of green eyes and another of deep blue—Imogen. She hadn't told Harry, he assumed. 

                "Where have you been?" Harry asked as Sirius stood solemnly at the foot of the bed. 

                He looked from Harry, strong and certainly able to handle what he had to say, to Imogen who, thought weakened for the moment, possessed reserves of strength that Sirius envied. He didn't need to say anything in that moment. 

                Her face told him that she knew. And though she swore she would never cry again, she had also held out hope that Peter would make it out. It was gone now. She knew she had failed him. He was dead. 

                She blinked back tears and nodded in resignation, sinking down into her covers silently, pulling them over her head. She needed to hide out for a while. As she was in no condition to move, under the covers would have to suffice. 


	14. Turn It Off

Disclaimer: Same legal stuff applies. 

Author's Note: I use the names Lucy and Imogen interchangeably. Mostly, she is referred to as Imogen when she is in that particular disguise—especially around Harry (who doesn't know about Lucy yet). I know, confusing girl, isn't she?

Chapter 14

Turn It Off

"_It's amazing _

_How you make your face just like a wall _

_How you take your heart and turn it off _

_How I turn my head and lose it all_

_It's unnerving _

_How just one move puts me by myself _

_There you go just trusting someone else_

_Now I know I put us both through hell_

_I'm not saying _

_There wasn't nothing wrong _

_I just didn't think you'd ever get tired of me_

_I'm not saying _

_We ever had the right to hold on_

_I just didn't want to let you get away from me_

_But if that's how it's going to be _

_Straight out from underneath_

_Then we'll see who's sorry now…"_

_Matchbox Twenty: 'Leave'_

                Ginny stepped out into the hall thinking that she could have done a lot better on that last exam had she been in the proper mood lately to study. She shrugged and walked toward the Great Hall. She didn't care how she did. They were over. That's what mattered. She was free now to spend time with Lucy. 

                She headed down the table where Ron and Hermione were in a discussion that rendered them oblivious to everyone else. Ginny sneaked by unnoticed and grabbed an orange, heading back out the way she had come and up to the infirmary. 

                She never got there, however. Professor Snape came through the infirmary doors just as she was about to enter. 

                "You were just the person I was looking for," he said solemnly. He handed her a piece of parchment, the same one that she had lent him just a few days prior. She took it silently and watched as Snape walked off down the hall without another word. 

                When he had disappeared, Ginny took the letter in her hand, scanning the name on the front, her name, written in Draco's hand. She couldn't explain how she had come to that conclusion, but at that moment it struck her. She knew where he was. 

                Peeking through the infirmary doors, she was reassured that Lucy wasn't alone—or Imogen wasn't alone, rather. Harry was sitting with her. But both were silent. Imogen hadn't spoken since she had woken up and asked for Harry. It was becoming worrisome. 

                She shook her head. There was no need to fuss over her, Ginny reasoned. She was being well taken care of. 

                She turned and headed to the empty Gryffindor Tower. Most of the students would be at lunch by now. 

                She ran quickly to her room and threw her cloak over her. She knew what she was doing was highly illegal, but, she reasoned, she wasn't moving through time zones so no one would really kick up a fuss. 

                Pulling the large front door of the school open, Ginny was accosted by the frigid wind. Snow was blowing wildly around her, sticking in her eyelashes and hair. 

                Fighting the wind and snow, Ginny made her way past the gates and into Hogsmeade, a safe Apparating point outside of Hogwarts.  

***

                Sirius had explained what had happened with Peter. Harry sat there quiet, expressionless. 

                "Why are you telling me this?" Harry had asked. 

                "Because I thought you ought to know," Sirius answered. He watched with growing apprehension as Harry merely nodded in stoic understanding and turned to enter the infirmary again. 

                He hadn't seemed surprised, shocked or in any other way concerned with the fact that Peter had shot himself just a few hours ago. 

                He heaved a tired and frustrated sigh. He knew what he had to do. It would take a lot of convincing, but he thought it best. Lucy was in some serious trouble. Sirius saw no other alternative to taking her in for the holidays. And now it seemed that, in the odd state Harry was in, they would need each other. Snape was sure to protest. Arabella would certainly object, but everyone was in agreement that Lucy would not be going with her. 

                He descended into the lower levels of the school. Knocking slightly before entering, Sirius noted Arabella's deteriorating state with alarm. When he had left, they were no clearer on how Lucy had come to be in Arabella's service or by what means. Sirius and Snape had both tried to talk to her. Since Peter had died, not even twenty-four hours ago, all she did was stare at the ground and rock methodically back and forth. She used to be fearless. She was a hardened Auror. Sirius wondered how long it would take her to snap out of this trance. Would she ever fully come out of it?

                "I've had only marginal success," Snape announced, not looking at Sirius as he came in. He was scribbling something hurriedly. 

                "Which is?" Sirius asked, still eyeing Arabella with unease. 

                "She says that she found the girl in a lake," Snape said, repeating the cryptic words with a futile air. 

                Sirius furrowed his brow and gave the nonsensical phrase some thought. "A lake…loch? Could she mean a loch?" Sirius stopped pacing and stared at Snape. 

                "Ravenclaw's castle," Snape agreed. "Did you see her pull anyone out of the water?"

                Sirius shook his head. 

                Both were silent for a moment. 

                It was Arabella who broke the silence first. She sounded very lucid and not in the least as crazy as they had thought she was. Her face was red and she hadn't stopped crying since Sirius had pulled her screaming out of Azkaban. But there was a determination in her eyes and permeated her voice that was very much characteristic of Arabella. "Is she well enough to leave? I think she should come home with me."

                "Ah," Snape said, sharing a momentary glance with Sirius. "Arabella," he continued, "That may not be the best of ideas, seeing as you are half the reason she is in the infirmary to begin with. Besides, she is not well enough."

                "She has a job to do. Or she goes to prison."

                "Lucy isn't going anywhere, Arabella. I don't know what you were thinking—," Sirius began, his voice rising with anger. 

                Snape stood. "Black! This isn't the time or the place."

                Sirius ignored him. "She could have died. Didn't you care about that at all? What possessed you?"

                Arabella stood. "It was the only way. Malfoy knows something. He wanted Peter dead. He…it was the only way!"

                "She stays here." Snape broke through their argument decisively. "Arabella, you should go home and rest. We'll let you know when she's ready to talk, though I doubt she possesses the information you were looking for. Malfoy isn't that stupid."

                "I don't think she should stay at the school." Sirius looked pointedly at Snape. "He's gotten in easily enough before. If she does know something, he'll be looking for her. He knows the wards to this school, knows how they work. Need I remind you what kind of disaster resulted the last time he attacked the school?"

                Snape knew he was right. Lucius Malfoy had broken down the school's nearly infallible wards in order for Voldemort to strike. Mass death of students and teachers resulted. "What do you suggest, Black? That we pack her up and send her home?" 

                Sirius took a deep breath. If Snape were in a taunting mood, he would not give him the satisfaction of seeing him annoyed. "I suggest she stays with me. There are wards over my house. He wouldn't even think to look for her there. Plus, she'll have someone her age around. I think it would be good for her. Maybe she'll start talking again."

                Snape took a moment to consider this. It was evident from his expression that he didn't like the prospect. "I blame you for what happened to that child as much as I blame Arabella and her father. What makes you think that I'll consent?"

                "It's not your place to consent or object. I've already spoken to Dumbledore and he thinks that it is best." Sirius moved to take Arabella by the arm and lead her out of the office. "I'll take her home."

                "I'm warning you, Black. One wrong move where that child is concerned and—," Snape began, but was cut off by Arabella. 

                "Oh will you stop it!" she raged. "Both of you! Nothing is going to happen to her."

                Snape did as he was told. Arabella, Sirius thought, was the only one to have that effect over him. 

                Sirius left without another word, Arabella in tow, shutting the door behind him. 

                "Are you going to tell me what this was really about, or are you just going to play crazy to avoid the issue?" Sirius snapped as he and Arabella left the school. 

                "I already told you. Lucy agreed to inform on Minister Grey. She seemed very excited by the job. We didn't know what to do with her. Her father wasn't aware that she had survived and we didn't think that it would be wise for him to find out. He would just come after her again, she said."

                "Why?" Sirius asked, impatiently. 

                "Because, she said that she had spied on him in the past. He nearly killed her once before that for listening in on one of their many secret meetings. But, she offered an alternative to prison." Arabella paused a moment at the gates and turned to Sirius. The wind was howling and she was eager to get out of the storm, but there were things that he needed to know. "I didn't know that it would turn out like this. I seriously thought it was under control."

                "Well, it wasn't. She was hurt pretty badly. I want to know what it was all for," Sirius said harshly. 

                "Peter told me, when I went to visit him—," Arabella began. 

                "I told you not to."

                "I know. But I did." Arabella leveled an incredulous glare at him. "He mentioned a few things that he knew Lucius Malfoy was getting up to."

                "And?" Sirius urged, fighting the cold. 

                "I was right about the rash of child abductions. Peter in so much as told me that it was Malfoy's doing." Arabella had a fleeting look of triumph on her face. "The fact that he attacked her as much as confirms that he told her his plans before he found out who she was."

                "That was a pretty dangerous game you played," Sirius scolded. 

                Arabella nodded, penitent. "I didn't mean for her to get hurt."

                "I know you didn't, but she did, Arabella."

                They stood there for a moment and then Apparated to the warmth of Arabella's London home. 

***

                Draco avoided the fencing room, even though it was the only place he could properly think. Every time, it seemed that he picked up a sword, his father would appear shortly after. He had no desire to see his father. In fact, he was only here to pick up a few things. Then, he would be on his way. This was too logical a place. His father was sure to turn up sooner or later. 

                He pulled back the drapes over the drawing room window and looked out. The clouds threatened snow any minute now. He wouldn't mind if his cloak was thick enough. He couldn't spend another moment in doors. 

                A few steps down the avenue of large and barren oaks the snow started to fall. Draco pulled his cloak tighter around him and continued on. He had decided that he should go to his grandmother's house—well, actually it was his house now. It was getting precarious staying at Malfoy Manor, especially if his father was looking for him. Draco would move on in a couple of days. And after a short stay in France, who knew where he would end up. It was looking less and less likely that he would ever see Ginny again. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind. 

                He had convinced himself that she felt nothing for him, only guilt. It was easier that way, he reasoned. 

                He stopped abruptly a little further down the path. He'd now become oblivious to the cold. He could only stare at the sight before him. It filled him with the greatest rage and disgust. Only one person could be responsible for this—his father. 

                His breaths came in short gasps as he ran the rest of the way. In front of him lay his mother's grave, the headstone half covered in snow. Next to her was Lucy's headstone and a freshly dug hole in the snow and earth. There was no coffin, no body. 

                His expelled breath beat out soft white clouds in the air, dissipating quickly on the frigid wind. He didn't know what to think, how to react. He stood there, looking on the scene in horror. It was some sort of gruesome message. His father was trying to tell him something. 

                Well, if he wanted me to listen, Draco thought, he was going about it the entirely wrong way. Draco's hatred for the man he had worshipped not long ago was nearly solidified. 

                Backing away slowly from the sight where his sister used to rest next to his mother, Draco clenched his fists and determined that he would leave immediately. Only he would not run from his father. He would wait for him in France. 

                There was nothing Lucius Malfoy could say that would convince him now. It was time he told him so. There would be no more vacillating between right and wrong, good and evil. He belonged in neither camp, but he belonged to his father no more. He would tell him and then he would leave. 

***

                "Harry, dear. Visiting hours are over, I'm afraid," Madam Pomfrey announced as she came around the curtain to see that he was still there. Her patient was awake, but still said nothing. "We have to change your bandages now, love."

                Imogen held out a hand silently, where gauze was wrapped around her forearm. She smiled slightly as Harry got up to leave. 

                "I suspect you will be well enough to leave the hospital tomorrow," the nurse said with a cheerful air. 

                "Leave?" Imogen asked. 

                "Ah! I'm glad to see that you haven't lost the ability to speak. You're just fooling everyone," the nurse winked at her as she undid one bandage after another. 

                "I don't want to have explain things yet," Imogen answered sheepishly. 

                "I completely understand. I won't tell a soul," Madam Pomfrey agreed. 

                "Am I being sent home?" Imogen asked in a rather displeased tone. 

                "Oh, certainly not."

                "Can I not stay here? I know I'm not technically a student here, but—," Imogen said, sitting up and then wincing at the pain she had caused her slowly healing back. 

                "Careful, dear. No, the Headmaster doesn't think it wise that you stay here. But he has offered an alternative, if it is agreeable to you."

                "What's that?" Imogen asked suspiciously. She would rather live on the streets than with Arabella again, if that was the alternative.  

                "Mr. Black has offered to take you in for the holiday, if you'll agree to it," Madam Pomfrey said with a smile, knowing that this alternative would be well received. 

                Imogen just smiled and nodded, though smiling hurt her cheek very much, she couldn't help the reaction to the news. 

                "Good, then you're all settled. I'll let the Headmaster and Mr. Black know of your consent." The nurse bustled off leaving Imogen to herself. Slowly, she got to her feet, her linen nightgown falling to her ankles. She placed a tentative foot forward until she came to stand next to the window, placing her hands on the sill for support. She caught the sight of two people in conversation at the edges of the school's grounds, Sirius and Arabella. 

                As she watched them pass the gates and Apparate away, she set to the arduous task of putting her scrambled and fuzzy thoughts in order. She had to explain everything to Harry. The more time that passed in silence, the less she was sure that he would forgive her for her secrets. 

***

                Ginny stood along the shore, her cloak whipping wildly around her. Staring out along the fathomless blue, she saw a small fishing boat out on the horizon. 

                There was a chilly mist in the air that made her shiver. 

                She was at the end of hope. He had not been at his grandmother's house as she thought he might. It had been only the glimmer of a hope, but now she was certain that she would never see him again, even though his letter had promised that she would. 

                He left her again. One moment there were promises of forever and the next moment she had turned her head and he was gone. It was the same when he had found her in Ravenclaw's castle. She had thought she was going to die. He brought her from utter despair to overflowing joy and relief. And then he had pushed her away almost as quickly. He had ceased to care when he thought she had betrayed him. If it hadn't been that, it would always be something. Their relationship was doomed to be an impermanent and painful one. 

                Perhaps he had realized this before she had. Choosing to break from this before it became too overwhelming, too strong to deny. Draco had left her and maybe for the last time. 

                She realized all of this. So, why was she still standing here? Why was she still searching? Why couldn't she let go, as he had? Was it that she was too weak?

                Lost in her thoughts she didn't even hear the padding of horses' hooves in the wet beach sand. 

                "What are you doing here?" Draco asked. 

                She spun around, completely caught off guard. Her wet hair clung to her face as she looked up at him. Emil cocked his ears and whinnied, shifting his weight impatiently. Draco's horse even acted like him sometimes. 

                "I thought I said that you should stay with your family. Ginny, you're not safe here," Draco said with stern conviction. He looked angry. 

                "I thought you would at least be glad to see me," she said, disappointed. 

                "I'm not," he answered decidedly. "You should go."

                "What?" Ginny said, wide-eyed and dripping. She was shivering, but she ignored it. "So, that's how it is? I should leave and you'll leave and we'll never see each other again."

                "Yes, that's how it is," Draco answered decidedly, looking out onto the water instead of at her pleading eyes. 

                "So, this was a lie?" Ginny asked, holding out the letter that he had written her. "Your promise. You lied. You were never intending to come back?" 

                "I was. But, I can't now."

                "Why?" Ginny was immovable. Her eyes demanded of him an explanation—a valid one. 

                "Because…I think you should just go, Ginny," Draco faltered. 

                "No."

                "Fine, then I will." He dug his heel into Emil's flank and spurred him forward. Ginny watched him round the beachhead and jump a fence behind the stable. 

                Ginny set her jaw and went after him. He wouldn't walk out on her again. 

***

                Sirius left Arabella pouring herself a glass of wine in the kitchen. He followed her directions to the room Lucy had been occupying. He found nothing out of the ordinary. It looked like a room inhabited by a fourteen-year-old. He wasn't sure what he had hoped to find. Any hint of what she knew about her father. None of them knew enough of his plans to stop him. Only she knew and she wasn't talking. 

                He saw a caldron in one corner, but thought nothing of this as Arabella had mentioned her interest in experimental potions. The Polyjuice experiment she had been working on explained a lot. That was how she was disguising herself so flawlessly as Imogen, Ruthie and finally Elena. She was a surprisingly clever girl. Hermione definitely had a rival in her. 

                He went to the desk where he found her notes, an entire thesis on her experiment. He picked it up along with several other notes and books related to her experiments. No doubt she would want these back, but first he would see if Snape could make anything out of them. 

                "Arabella, I might have found something useful. I need Snape to look over a few notes of hers. Will you be all right by yourself for a wh—," Sirius stopped in his tracks, dropping all of Lucy's notes which scattered around his feet. 

                Arabella lay on the kitchen floor. An arm protruding from around the corner was all of her that Sirius was able to see from his spot in the hall. But that arm was all he needed to see to tell she was in trouble. It was split, cut from the wrist to the elbow in one decisive slash. It was bleeding freely. The floor around her was a puddle of red. 

                Sirius forced himself to move. 

                He came around the corner and into the kitchen, dropping beside Arabella who wasn't moving. He brushed the large kitchen knife aside—her apparent weapon of choice, and felt for a pulse. 

***

                She followed the sounds down the hall. It was a piano. If she were a student of music she might even be able to pick out the tune. She rounded the corner, where the music had terminated and Draco sat there unmoving on the bench. He didn't turn to face her but she knew her presence had been detected. 

                "Why don't you just go?" he asked in an almost defeated tone. 

                "Because, I don't give up as easily as you," Ginny said, raising her chin defiantly. 

                He turned to face her, leveling cold gray eyes on her that made her shiver. "I could make you go. You have no idea what I am capable of."

                "Empty threat. I'm not afraid of you." Ginny moved into the room. She was aware that she was dripping, but politeness would have to wait a moment. 

                "You should be. Imogen was," Draco said, turning to his piano again and playing to ignore her. 

                Ginny walked decidedly over to him, slamming the keyboard shut with a cacophonous clang, nearly catching Draco's fingers in it. He favored her with a furious scowl. 

                "What does that mean? Why was Imogen afraid of you?" Ginny asked. Draco got up from the bench and walked to the fire. "Don't walk away from me Draco-I-don't-know-your-middle-name-but-if-I-did-this-would-sound-more-threatening Malfoy!" she stomped one foot indignantly. 

                He stopped and turned, a look of unexpected amusement on his face. He began to laugh. 

                "Don't you laugh, I'm mad at you!" she raged. 

                He just blinked and called to a house elf that lurked in the doorway. "Take Miss Weasley up to Lucy's room. Find something dry for her to wear. That will be all."

                The elf began to shoo Ginny out of the room. 

                "Were not done yet," she threatened as the elf took her by the hand and led her down the hall. 

                "We are for the moment," Draco called after her, apparently pleased to have finally gained the upper hand. 

                She found him in the same room playing the piano again. She was no longer dripping. Her hair was pulled out of her face in a wet knot and she was in dry pajamas. She no longer felt angry with him and decided that it had been because she was damp and cold. 

                She stopped behind him. He hadn't noticed her come in and continued playing. She watched his elegant fingers in wonder. He played beautifully and, though she had never much taken the time to appreciate music before, when he played she was in awe. 

                "That was beautiful," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. 

                He didn't turn around, but she knew he was smiling. His hand moved to cover hers—recognition of momentary truce. 

                "That was our song, mine and Lucy's. It sounds better when she plays," Draco replied in a small voice. "It's Lucas, by the way."

                "What is?" Ginny asked, perplexed. 

                "My middle name."

                "Oh, good to know."

                He turned to face her. He stared at her for a very long moment. It should have been awkward. Ginny was never one to appreciate undivided attention. But it seemed natural somehow. He was frank and unassuming. He didn't judge her and he didn't look down on her. "Do you want to stay tonight?"

                Ginny favored him with a thoughtful stare for a moment. He should know about his sister. Indeed, that was her very reason for coming. But, somehow she felt that it wasn't her place to tell him. She didn't want to go home at the moment, either. "Yes," she said. 

***

                "Go back to Arabella's. There are some notes there, on the floor in the front room that I dropped. I need them," Sirius said to Corbin. 

                Corbin nodded and turned to leave. 

                "Oh, one more thing," Sirius said urgently. 

                "Yes?" Corbin offered. 

                "Send word to Harry that he and Imogen are to take the train to London in the morning and I'll meet them at King's Cross."

                "Got it," Corbin said, scribbling this down on a scrap of paper and pocketing it. 

                "And, Corbin," Sirius added. 

                "What is it?" Corbin asked again, in as good-natured a tone as the hospital scene and the palpable stress of the situation would allow. They were all worried for Arabella, but none handled it so well as he did. 

                "Thank you," Sirius offered. 

                Corbin placed an understanding hand on his shoulder and then left to expedite his instructions. 

                Sirius sat with the unconscious Arabella and prayed that he wouldn't lose another of his friends. He had been angry with her and she had tried to kill herself. He knew that she was taking Peter's death hard. He was too. But her way of dealing with it had been this. Sirius wondered how she could have justified taking her own life when she of all people knew how precious it was. She had daily experienced death and loss. Her brother Mundungus, Remus, James and Lily and now Peter. He couldn't make sense out of this as much as he tried. If she was losing her grip, there was little hope that the rest of them could hold on much longer. 

***

                "I know. It's Ellen," Draco replied simply. 

                "How did you know my middle name?" Ginny asked, lifting her head from where it rested on his shoulder. 

                "I heard one of your brothers shouting at you in that hall at school one time," Draco explained. 

                "Percy? That was an awful long time ago," Ginny said. 

                "It stuck with me. I thought it was beautiful."

                "You're a liar," Ginny decided.

                Draco smiled, "I never claimed to be anything else."

                Ginny pulled the blanket up around her shoulders and shifted her weight on the sofa. "Draco?"

                "What?"

                "What happened between you and Imogen? You left that same evening and the next day, she left to." Ginny stared expectantly at him. 

                He looked very much like he didn't want to answer that, but plunged ahead anyway. "My father was at the school that night. He wanted a book that he was sure she had taken from our house. He wanted me to get it back."

                "And did you?" Ginny asked, yawning. 

                "I didn't want to. But, I did. She wasn't very willing to part with it and so I hit her," Draco said, his voice was infused with self-loathing. 

                 "You did that?" Ginny asked, astonished. 

                "Yes. That's why I left. I know my father won't stop there. I don't want him to hurt you—either of you. And I don't want him to use me to do it either. That's why you can't follow me," Draco stared pointedly at her. 

                "Don't I get a say in what I can and can't do?"

                "No," Draco said instantly, but placated her with a kiss. 

                She yawned again and laid her head back on his shoulder. "But, I'm here now."

                "Yes, you're here now," Draco said with regret. 

                Sometime in the hours before dawn, Draco awoke. He knew he couldn't stay any longer. He had decided that he wouldn't run. But, he couldn't stay with her. He wanted to very much, but there was no possible way that this could work. 

                He watched her while she slept for a few moments and then picked himself up off of the sitting room sofa. Covering her with the blanket, he whispered close to her ear, "Tante que je vis je t'aimerai."

                He kissed her cheek and left, much in the same way that he had left her only a few days ago. She wouldn't find him again, however. And he had made no promises this time. 

                He shut the door quietly and was gone. 

                "As long as I live, I will love you." The words registered somewhere in her consciousness, bringing her out of sleep, but too late. 

                He was gone. And once again, she was alone. 

***

                The train rocked gently and Imogen watched as the gentle movement caused Harry to sway as he slept. He hadn't slept in days. He had spent most of that week sitting up with her. Madam Pomfrey had been very indulgent of the two and teased her, calling them "little love birds." How untrue that name had been. 

                She was having a hard time trying to decide just exactly what they were. She couldn't even speak to him, as ridiculous as that sounded. 

                A nervous feeling arose in her stomach as she thought about it. There would be no avoiding the truth. How much longer could she avoid it?

                Slowly Harry's head drifted and fell to her shoulder as the train clanged rhythmically over the tracks. 

                She heaved a painful sigh. 

                What would he think of her when he finally knew?


	15. Morning Star

Disclaimer: I own my characters. Rowling owns hers and I'm just borrowing them for a while. 

Author's Note: All scripture was taken from the New International Version. Me no likie the KJV!

Thanks To: Oliverwoodsgirl who continues to be my number one reviewer. Thanks so much for your constant encouragement. 

Hibiscus: You know, a few chapters ago you asked if Gabriel was Remus's child. That was very creative of you and I am sorry to say that my mind does not work in the        obviously complex way that yours seems to. Gabriel's past is, I'm sorry to say, a little more contrived than that. 

Chapter 15

Morning Star

_"I don't want to talk to you anymore_

_I'm afraid of what I might say_

_I bite my tongue every time you are around_

_Cause blood in my mouth is better than blood on the ground…"_

_Incubus: 'Blood On The Ground'_

                "Have you seen my sister, Ginny?" a voice called from the compartment door. 

                Imogen was startled out of her thoughts and shook her head at Ron. 

                Ron walked unceremoniously into the compartment and kicked Harry who was asleep next to her. 

                He awoke somewhat startled, more tousle-haired than normal. "What?" he asked in a slightly hassled voice. 

                "Ginny's not on the train," Ron said simply. 

                "She has to be," Harry said. "Where is Hermione? Maybe Ginny is with her."

                Ron leveled impatient eyes on his friend. "Hermione went to ask the baggage attendant if Ginny's trunk is onboard."

                Harry furrowed his brow. "When was the last time you saw her?"

                "Hermione says that she saw her yesterday at lunch."

                They both looked to Imogen who shrugged. 

                Ron walked out, frustrated and Harry followed. 

                Imogen took out a worn copy of _Tale of Two Cities _and attempted to occupy herself. She knew that Ginny would turn up eventually. 

                Harry returned to the compartment only five minutes before the train pulled into the station. 

                "Did you find her?" Imogen asked, looking over the spine of her book. 

                Harry shook his head distractedly and pulled Hedwig's cage down from the overhead compartment. 

                "Come on, Fang," Imogen said, nudging the sleeping dog gently with one foot. 

                She pulled her cloak on and took Hedwig from Harry, handing him Fang's lead instead. 

                They met Ron and Hermione out on the platform and it wasn't long before Molly, Arthur and Sirius found them in the holiday crowd. 

                Molly looked around with utter worry and alarm on her face. Rounding on Ron, she asked, "Where is Ginny?"

***

                Ginny's heart fell in disappointment as she realized that she had been dreaming. In the earlier part of the morning she thought she heard Draco's voice, promising her that as long as he lived, he would love her. And it was just that: a dream. He was gone and she was left alone—again. 

                She pushed herself up slowly from the sofa and rubbed her aching neck. How long had she been asleep for? Had she missed the train? 

                "Good morning, or should I say afternoon?" a cold voice said from behind her, freezing her with fear. 

                Ginny turned slowly to see Lucius Malfoy sitting at the bench Draco had sat at the night before when he'd played Frank Sinatra's 'Fly Me To The Moon' for her. 

                She couldn't bring herself to utter a word. She just stood in horror. 

                He smiled back at her. "Speechless, are you? I must say, you Gryffindors are none of you too smart." He favored her with a smirk. "What luck is mine that I come looking for my son and instead find the one person that can answer all of my dire questions." He turned to the piano and placed his long and elegant fingers on the keys. They looked exactly like Draco's hands. 

                Something inside of Ginny was loosened by his unassuming air. He didn't seem to want to hurt her—at the moment at least. 

                "What makes you think I'll cooperate?" Ginny asked, taking the blanket she was clutching and wrapping it around her. She lifted her chin defiantly and held her ground, glaring at him as he played. 

                Lucius shook his head and continued playing. "I don't think you will. Don't be so presumptuous." He played as well as his son, but with less feeling and more mechanical drive. 

                "I won't tell you willingly, whatever it is. Voldemort tried. He said that I couldn't be forced. A seer cannot be forced to tell what they see."

                "That is not entirely true or false. He was always a bit of a blunderer in my honest and humble opinion." Lucius glanced at her momentarily and winked. 

                "I wasn't aware that you possessed anything honest or humble," Ginny shot back. 

                "Very true," Lucius conceded. "He had a bit of a soft spot where you were concerned. He gave you a choice." He stopped and looked at the girl standing behind the sofa frankly. "I will not be so generous. I cannot make you see. But I can get into your memory, where you store the images that you have already seen."

                "Memory Charms?" Ginny asked with a shudder. 

                "Yes," he answered with a grin of purest evil. "Let's sit and have a chat, like two civilized people. You don't need to stand on formality with me, Virginia. May I call you Virginia?" 

                "Whatever you want, Lucius," Ginny said, sitting back on the couch again as Lucius took the chair across from her. 

                "Ah, that's nice. We're friends already," he said with the same mocking grin. 

                Ginny only raised her eyebrows in response. There's a friend you don't bring home to meet your parents, she thought. 

                "You think me evil, don't you? I am. Don't think you're going to get away this time. You aren't playing with Voldemort anymore, child. This is serious," he said. 

                Ginny looked at him with eyes that showed no hint of her terror. "But the way of the wicked is like deep darkness; they do not know what makes them stumble," Ginny quoted. She believed this, it gave her strength. 

                Lucius laughed. "I believe you are catching on, child. Psalms 4:19. That is exactly why I need your help and why you are going to help me."

                "I will not," Ginny replied evenly. 

                "I think you will," he decided, surveying her with malicious intent. "Go on. Test me again."

                Ginny thought for a moment. There were many pertinent verses to this conversation. "An evil man is bent only on rebellion; a merciless official will be sent against him."

                "Psalms seventeen verse eleven. You really believe that, don't you?"

                He stared at her for several uncomfortable minutes. "I can see in your eyes that you do. A vain hope, Virginia. He is no match for me."

                "Then why do you need me?" Ginny asked, turning the tables. "You just said that you need me so that you won't stumble. You believe it too, or we wouldn't be having this conversation."

                Lucius stood, eyeing her menacingly. "Another," he commanded. 

                Ginny sighed. This was worse than torture. The anticipation of torture was always far worse. She cursed herself for getting into this situation, cursed Draco for leaving her. "How you are fallen from heaven," she began watching a gratified smile flash across Lucius' face. "O Morning Star, sun of the dawn! You have been cast down to the earth, you who once laid low the nations! You said in your heart, 'I will ascend to heaven; I will raise my throne above the stairs of God; I will sit enthroned on the mount of assembly…'"

                He leaned over her, one arm resting on the back of the sofa behind her head and one beside her on its arm, trapping her. "And so I shall. That is my particular favorite. Isaiah fourteen verses twelve and thirteen. Where did you learn to quote scripture?"

                "My grandparents," Ginny answered. 

                "Adelaide Connelly?" he asked. 

                Ginny nodded, cowering beneath him. 

                "A remarkable woman. I have heard of her. Tom Riddle seemed to worship her in his school days." He favored her with another look, half admiration half impatience. "Morning Star, hmm? Though I appreciate the complement, Miss Weasley, flattery will get you nowhere with me."

                He removed his wand before Ginny had the chance to react. She was plunged into oblivion in a fraction of a second. She remembered nothing after that. 

***

                "Harry, you and Imogen are to go with Mrs. Weasley," Sirius explained. "I will be back to get you by dinner time and then we can go home."

                Harry nodded without a word as he watched Mr. Weasley and Sirius walk off in the opposite direction, toward the Ministry. 

                "Come on then," Molly said, herding the others off in the direction of the taxis. 

                Harry heard Hermione a few steps behind him trying to console Ron. "It's not your fault. She'll turn up."

                At the Burrow, Molly explained to a worried Bill and Fred that Ginny had gone missing. 

                Imogen tried to stay out of the way and finally found a spot in the corner of the kitchen where she wouldn't be obtrusive. She watched with interest the people in the crowded room, Bill who moved toward Ron and smacked him upside the back of the head and began yelling at him. "Exactly how do you go for more than twenty-four hours without seeing your sister?"

                "Ow!" Ron replied indignantly. "She's been in the infirmary with her for the past week." Ron pointed to Imogen unexpectedly. Imogen in turn blinked and stared shell shocked at the room full of eyes on her. She fidgeted and offered a small smile. 

                "Have you been ill, dear?" Molly asked in an overly motherly tone. 

                "I'm better now, thanks," Imogen said in a mouse's voice. 

                She was thankful when no more questions were thrown at her and the conversation turned once again to tea, dinner and an irresponsible Ron. 

                "This is going to throw the wedding into all kinds of chaos if she doesn't turn up by dinner," Molly raged, clanging a pot down on the stove. 

                "Mum, sit down. I'll make dinner," Bill offered. He ushered his frazzled mother into a nearby chair. 

                Taking a napkin off of the sideboard, she began to cry into it, covering her face. "She's God only knows where. It's getting dark. I hope she's not hurt. What if she's scared?"

                Hermione came to sit next to her, placing an arm around her trembling shoulders. 

                "She'll turn up, Mrs. Weasley," she promised. 

                Imogen got up silently from the scene and tip-toed into the front room. She couldn't take anymore. She had a guess at where Ginny had gone. But if Ginny hadn't told anybody where she was going then it was no place of hers to speculate. 

                She relished in the peace of the adjacent room as the tones of the others were gradually muted. They talked of canceling a wedding and who's fault it was this time that Ginny was gone. 

                She scanned the wall opposite the front door. It was filled with family portraits and other, more random, snapshots. Imogen smiled. It must have been nice to grow up being part of this family. 

                "Why are you hiding?" Harry asked, coming into the room behind her. He moved over to where she stood and examined the same picture that had her attention. She felt his arm slide around her waist and winced slightly. "You don't like them?"

                "Careful, my ribs still hurt," she said out of reflex. 

                "Sorry," Harry muttered sheepishly and then withdrew his hand. 

                "No, I didn't mean it like that. Who is this?" Imogen asked, changing the subject. She kicked herself for saying the wrong thing. He seemed to be walking on thin ice around her anyway and she had just made it worse. 

                "That's George. I think you were at school his last year there," Harry answered. "And that is his fiancée, Anni. She also happens to be my cousin."

                Imogen brightened and smiled at him. "Cousin? Do I get to meet her?"

                "You get to meet my entire family if you come with me to their wedding," Harry offered timidly. He only met her eyes reluctantly but was relieved to see her smile remained. 

                "Harry Potter, are you asking me to be your date?" she asked.

                "Well…yes. That is, if it's not canceled by Ginny's disappearance." 

                "I don't have a dress," she frowned suddenly. 

                "That's okay," Harry began, "I have to be fitted tomorrow with Ron. Part of the wedding party and all. You can come too and look around while we're there."

                "Where?" Imogen said, visibly intrigued by the prospect of shopping. 

                "London, of course," Harry shrugged. 

                "Muggle London?" she pressed. 

                "Yes," his eyes narrowed slightly, "Is that a problem for you?"

                "No," Imogen laughed, "I haven't been shopping in Muggle London in years. Did you think that I would have a problem with Muggles?" She shook her head, "Way to perpetuate those stereotypes, Harry."

                "Sorry. I guess I just wanted to make sure. My family is Muggle, you know," he admitted. 

                "Very cool," Imogen said. "But I guess all of that is beside the point if Ginny doesn't turn up."

                "I know her. She will."

***  

                "At least it wasn't Bill that lost her this time," Fred said. 

                Bill shot him a look from the stove and Hermione kicked him hard in the shin under the table. 

                "Oh, I'm a bad mother!" Molly wailed into her napkin. 

                "No, mum. It was my fault entirely," Ron said, looking just as bad as he felt. 

                "Fred, don't tell your brother about this until tomorrow. I don't want him to be upset," Molly instructed, ignoring Ron. 

                "Nah, he's got the shop covered tonight anyway. He won't be home for another hour and a half. She'll be back before then." Fred was adamant and leaned across the table to pat his mother's arm. 

                "Where is your father?" she raged. 

                "Tea, mum," Bill said with a wink at Hermione and Ron. That usually meant in the Weasley household that it was spiked. 

                "Are they supposed to be doing that?" Fred asked, eyeing Crookshanks and Fang as they combated noisily by the door. Crookshanks was hissing and spitting, his head was held fast in Fang's massive jaws. 

                "They're just playing," Hermione explained. 

                Bill ignored all of them and busied himself with cutting broccoli. His attention wandered to the window where he noted absently that it had begun to snow again. 

                Focusing past the flakes that fell just outside the frosted glass, he noticed that the garden gate had been left open. He remembered specifically closing it behind the newcomers that afternoon. 

                All was explained as he took a harder look beyond the gate. Ginny was laying just off the path. She wasn't moving. 

                He threw down the knife, which clanged to the floor as he flung the back door open and ran down the path. Fred was just behind him. 

***

                Ginny dug her feet into the wet sand. They were nearly frozen, like the rest of her. 

                She stared blankly at the water. The sky was a back-lit canopy of indigo. The sun had set. 

                The wind whipped around her, biting at her bare hands, fingers, toes and cheeks. The icy surf beat against her ankles, soaking the hems of her borrowed pajamas. 

                She was cold but she thought nothing of it. Terror was fighting for dominion over her senses and was winning. The last thing she remembered was her dream. It wasn't like a normal dream. It was more or less just a voice, Draco's voice. He had promised her everything. When she had awakened, she realized that he had taken it all away when he had left her—for the last time. She wouldn't see him again. 

                The rest was a blank. How was it that she had lost an entire day?

                She turned and with growing confusion noted the glowing white cliffs that trapped her against the water's edge. How had she ended up in Dover? 

                Oblivious to the chilly mist in the air, her wet and freezing hair, she bent to pick her wand up out of the sand. She nearly fell from dizziness and had to race the surf that wished to claim her wand. 

                She blinked once more, hopping that some glimmer of remembrance would come to her. But there was none. 

                She sniffed back tears of helplessness and fright and Apparated to the village limits of Ottery St. Catchpole. As this was one of the few pure wizarding communities left in Great Britain, wards were in place to prevent Apparating into its limits. One could Apparate in short distances once inside the wards, but not from without. 

                She tucked her wand in the waistband of her pink flowered pajama pants and walked the small main thoroughfare for ten blocks. 

                She finally caught sight of her house on the hill. Warm light emanated from the windows. Ginny sighed in relief and exhaustion as she urged her frozen and numb limbs just a little further. She felt so tired and so cold. She sank into comforting darkness as she pushed the garden gate open, leaning on it for support. She fell and felt the distant pain in her knees as they struck gravel, but she didn't mind. She was home. 

                Bill spoke to her, called her name. But she didn't respond. Her eyelids, covered in delicate snowflakes were shut and would not open in response. She was cold to the touch, he realized as he lifted her from the gravel path and rushed her into the house. Fred held the door open for him and looked on in shock. That was pretty much the consensus expression of everyone in the room. 

                Molly cried out in relief and then horror as the condition of her youngest child became clear to her. 

                Hermione held Ron's hand as he looked on guiltily. 

                Harry and Imogen watched silently from the doorway of the next room.   

                Bill disappeared up the stairs and into the room on the first landing. Molly went directly after him. 

                The rest were silent, eyes on the floor. 

                Bill returned to the kitchen moments later without a word. 

                An hour chimed by on the clock. 

                "Hey guys. What's up?" George said as he came through the door and brushed the snow from his cloak. "Ron, Harry, guess who was in the store today?"

                No one answered him and only Hermione noted his entry. "What's wrong with you people? Have I died?" He asked, perplexed. He looked to Imogen and furrowed his brow, "Who are you?"

                "George," Fred called, moving into the next room. George gave one last fleeting look at the inhabitants of the kitchen and then followed him. 

                Sirius and Arthur were the next two to enter. "No luck. We've filed a missing persons…but," Mr. Weasley shrugged. Worry painted his face. 

                "She's here, dad," Bill said and noted the look on his father's face fade into relief. 

                "Is she all right?" he asked urgently. 

                "Fine. Mum's got her upstairs," he said, fussing over dinner. He was more like his mother than any of them. When in doubt, cook!

                Sirius sat down at the table. "Where was she?"

                Ron shrugged. The others stared. Bill cooked.

                "No one knows?" Arthur said with growing anxiety.    

                "She ended up unconscious in the garden," Bill explained. "I'm sure she'll tell us when she wakes up."

                "Dude, this place is so cool!" an amused voice called from the front room. Anni appeared moments later and removed her ski jacket, shaking snow from her half-curly half-spiked hair. "I just ran into this guy out on the street when I stepped out of the taxi. I thought he was homeless at first. But he was trying to sell me dragon's toenails or something."

                "You shouldn't talk to those people, Anni," Bill admonished, not turning around. "He was probably a black marketer." 

                "He had like this fake pirate accent. And I thought he was neat and so I asked him how much. He was all, 'Argh, lassie. For you ahl cut it halfway. Two sickles.' What's the conversion rate on that anyway? I don't even carry wizarding money."

                Most of the room ignored her but Imogen was staring in wide-eyed, gaping-mouth wonder. "That's your cousin?" she mouthed to Harry. 

                "Hi! I'm Anni," she said, moving to shake the hand of the shell-shocked and speechless girl. 

                "This is Imogen," Harry answered for her. 

                "So, you comin' to my wedding? It should be a kick-ass time," Anni asked. 

                Imogen still hadn't found her voice.                 

                "I've invited her. I don't know if she's accepted yet," Harry answered again. 

                "I'm going to give Molly a hand," Arthur said, excusing himself. 

                Sirius sipped his tea. "Anni, come and sit down. You're making all of us nervous," he sighed. 

                "What's going on?" she asked, looking between Sirius and Bill. 

                ***

                "Will she be all right?" Anni asked Molly as everyone sat down finally to dinner. 

                "Yes, love. She's just resting now." Molly looked hassled but hid it well.                

                Imogen watched her the most out of all of the Weasleys. There were few similarities to this woman and her own mother. She reminded her more of her grandmother whom she was missing very much. She also kept a wary eye on Ron who seemed to take pleasure in glaring at her. 

                She would have to corner him sometime and find out what the deal was. 

                "So, Imogen," Arthur asked with a smile, "What House do you belong to at school?"

                Imogen opened her mouth to answer, but Ron had beat her to it. "She's a Slytherin." It wasn't kindly meant. 

                He jumped slightly and shot a sideways glance at Hermione. Imogen took this to mean that he'd received a deserving kick under the table. 

                "I've always wanted to know where your common rooms are," Arthur continued good-naturedly. 

                "You and every other Gryffindor," Imogen smiled and winked. Arthur blushed. 

                "I know," Sirius chimed in with a devilish grin. 

                "You're lying," Imogen challenged. 

                "Ah, no, Miss Spencer. You are talking to one of the illustrious creators of the Marauder's Map," George said. 

                "The what?" Anni asked. Imogen was thankful that she wasn't the only one that this sounded like gibberish to. 

                "It's a map of the school," Fred elaborated. 

                "It shows every living thing with convenient little labels, secret passages, etc." 

                "Which reminds me," Fred turned to Sirius and asked, "We found it in Filch's office. Which of you got it taken away?"

                Sirius put down his fork and turned to Imogen and Anni, sitting next to each other. Both were listening attentively. "Remus, Peter, James and I were constantly finding new and improved ways for breaking the rules," As a side note he turned to Harry and Ron and said, "disregard everything I am saying at the moment." Ron nodded and Harry smiled. "This was one of our most precious implements of mischief. We wrote it—well, Remus and Peter wrote it in our fifth year at school." He turned to Fred and George and answered, "We didn't get it taken away. Lily turned it in to Filch in our seventh year."

                "Women," Fred said with a mournful shake of the head. 

                "No, she was all right for a girl," Sirius admitted. "She actually was a lot like that one there," Sirius said with a smile, pointing to Hermione who sat quietly at the end of the table.

                She looked up and beamed. "I wouldn't do a thing like that though," she said. 

                Ron coughed and Harry snorted. 

                "I wouldn't," she argued, looking sternly at the two. 

                "Firebolt," Ron coughed again. 

                "It was for your own good though," she said. 

                Molly changed the subject, mostly because she hadn't been listening to the prior conversation. "Sirius?"

                "Yes, Mrs. Weasley?" he asked. 

                "How is Arabella doing?" 

                Sirius tensed a little. "She'll be able to leave the hospital tomorrow. I'm taking her over to Remus' mother's house. I don't want her to be by herself. And, well…Mae is all alone on Christmas anyway."

                "Very good for both of them. The poor dear." Molly shook her head and became quiet. "I'm going to check on Ginny," she said finally and left the table. 

                The rest of the meal passed in relative quiet. Molly returned after Bill, Anni and Imogen had cleared the dishes and said, "Imogen, dear. Ginny wants to speak to you."

                Imogen said nothing. She followed Molly's instructions up to Ginny's room and entered tentatively. 

                "What happened?" Imogen asked, coming to sit next to Ginny on the bed. 

                "Honestly, I don't remember," Ginny said with huge eyes. 

                "Right." Imogen shook her head. "You show up, unconscious in the garden of your own home in _my _pajamas. And you don't remember what happened."

                "You have to believe me," Ginny said. 

                "I will when you tell me the truth," Imogen said sternly. 

                Ginny bit her lip and decided to spill everything she knew. "After my last exam I came to visit you in the hospital, only Snape—well, that doesn't matter. I saw that you already had company and so I decided to look for Draco. I thought he might be at your grandmother's house."

                "That'd be my guess. Why?" Imogen asked, still stern. 

                "Because," Ginny blushed momentarily bringing some color into her ghostly complexion, "he never said goodbye."

                "He told me that he would before he left," Imogen insisted. 

                "He wrote a letter. I was asleep."

                "You shouldn't have gone after him."

                "I know. But I wanted to see him. I needed so badly to see him," Ginny said. 

                "And…did you?" she asked. 

                "Yes. It was raining. That's why I was wearing your things. I got wet," Ginny explained. 

                "Yeah, sure," Imogen said skeptically.             

                "Honestly, Lucy. I didn't do anything with your brother," Ginny swore. 

                "Shhh!" Imogen admonished, wide-eyed. "I haven't told him yet!"

                "Yeah, you're Imogen. I get that. No one's listening to our conversation."

                "Even so. Just be careful. And I don't want to hear what you've been getting up to with my brother. Any more _pertinent_ information you can remember?"

                Ginny thought for a moment. "We fell asleep around one in the morning. I woke up the next morning and he was gone." Ginny shrugged and shook her head. "That's it."

                "And how long were you alone in my grandmother's house?" Imogen asked with growing alarm. She endeavored to keep an even expression. She didn't want to scare Ginny unnecessarily. 

                Ginny shrugged again. "I don't even remember leaving."

                Imogen nodded. 

                There was a knock at the door and both girls turned to see Hermione peek her head through the door. "Imogen, Sirius and Harry are making ready to leave."

                "Thank you," Imogen said with a smile. 

                "I brought you some tea," Hermione added, entering and setting a tray next to Ginny on the bed. 

                "Thanks, but what I'd really like is a bath."

                Imogen stood. "Write me if you think of anything else," she said, bending to kiss Ginny on the forehead. She left her in Hermione's care and returned to the front room where she was being waited on. 

                Ron was still glaring, but Imogen ignored it. 

***

                "Hermione," Ginny began tentatively. "I think I'm going crazy." She scrubbed hard at her filthy feet and desperately tried to remember something new. She peeked her head outside of the shower curtain and favored Hermione with a tired stare. "Do you think I'm mad?"

                "No," Hermione said from her spot leaning against the door. She sat on the rug and sipped at the tea that Ginny had refused. "I don't think you're mad, Ginny."

                Ginny withdrew her head behind the curtain again and continued scrubbing. "It's just blank. I can't remember. It's scary."

                "What's the last thing you do remember?" 

                Ginny bit her lip as she lathered her hair. She decided to tell. Hermione wouldn't betray her confidence. "I went to find Draco."

                "You Apparated?" Hermione asked, it was more like a stating of fact. 

                "Yes, I did," Ginny replied simply. 

                "Did you find him?" Hermione continued. 

                "Yes."

                "And…what happened?" Hermione urged. 

                There was a knock at the door and then Ron's voice called, "Gin, have you seen Hermione?"

                "I'm here, Ron," Hermione answered. 

                There was a bit of hesitation. "What…you're both in there?" 

                Ginny began splashing around. "Early Christmas present. Can't two girls have a little fun without you interrupting?"

                The was a disgusted howl from the other side of the door and then hurried footsteps. 

                Ginny peeked her head around the curtain and smiled deviously. 

                "I'm going to have a lot of explaining to do," Hermione said, trying to be as solemn as possible. Her face broke out into a huge grin. 

                "He knew I was joking…didn't he?" Ginny said. 

                "Fine, if you're not going to tell me the rest of the story, I understand. I have to go see what he wants," Hermione said, pushing off of the floor. She knew that Ginny was avoiding the truth. She had her way with secrets…but that never meant anything good. 

***

                Imogen padded silently down that stairs to where a light was glowing dimly in the kitchen. She knew that Harry was asleep and so the only one still up was Sirius. It was nearly one-thirty in the morning. 

                She came into the kitchen and saw that it was who she had thought. He was bent over stacks of legal papers and didn't notice her enter. 

                As she moved closer he looked up. 

                "Is something wrong?" he asked urgently. 

                "No. I couldn't sleep and I saw the light on," Imogen said. He briefly observed her socked feet and nightdress and smiled. 

                "You remind me of my sister," he said. 

                "You have a sister? Older or younger?" Imogen asked, taking a seat next to him. On closer inspection, she noticed that they were her files for patents and notes that he was examining. He knew about her Polyjuice experiments. 

                "Older. But, she's dead."

                "Oh, sorry," Imogen offered. She brought a few of the papers in front of her and examined them. "You have them all mixed up," she chided. 

                "I dropped them. I found them in your room and brought them out to the kitchen and that's when I found her," Sirius explained. 

                "Here, let me," Imogen offered, setting to the task of organizing the notes again. She knew them all by heart and so this would be no difficult task. "I can't help feeling like I screwed up. I let them down."

                "No, Lucy. You didn't screw up."

                "Yes, I did. I was the only one who could help Peter. He knew what my father was up to. If I could have found out everything in time…we could have cleared him. And Arabella would never have tried to kill herself." She stopped and favored Sirius with a guilty frown. 

                "We all miss Peter. I know he was wrong, but I don't think anyone deserves to die. He was still my friend. I know I didn't act like it, but I still love him. I know that Remus and James do to. Friendship that strong doesn't die so quickly." Sirius leaned back in his chair. 

                Imogen stared at him for a long time and then wiped her eyes. "It must be hard to talk about them…to remember it all…like you did tonight. The Marauder's Map. You sounded inseparable then."

                Sirius smiled. "We did everything together. James was the de facto leader, but it was Remus who was the brains behind every scheme. Anytime we managed to get into trouble though, Peter was always the willing scapegoat."

                "And what part did you play?" Imogen asked over the shuffling of the paper. 

                Sirius thought about this for a moment and then shrugged. "I just liked being part of the group."

                "I'm sorry I couldn't help Peter. And I'm sorry I couldn't help your friend Remus," Imogen said in a small voice. 

                "When did you ever know Remus?" Sirius asked with a furrowed brow. 

                "I never did. I was in Azkaban when he was killed."

                "I nearly forgot about that," Sirius said, his eyes lighting with realization. 

                "I could have gotten to him…but I had to help my brother."

                "There was nothing you could have done to help him. You couldn't have taken Peter on," Sirius said. 

                "No. But I could have countered the curse," she said hollowly, lost in the memory of that night. 

                "Curse?" Sirius asked sitting up straighter. 

                "The Imperious Curse. I saw Voldemort use it. I know all of the counter curses."

                Sirius closed his eyes as if in prayer or deep contemplation. "Remus wouldn't have wanted you to choose him over your brother. He wouldn't have wanted Peter to die, either."

                "But you did once?"

                "I've personally tried to kill him twice," Sirius admitted. 

                "But he didn't hate you. He didn't hate anyone but himself," Imogen said. 

                "Perhaps," Sirius conceded. He changed topics just as quickly. "Did you ever know that Remus was a werewolf?"

                Imogen wasn't shocked. "No. He doesn't seem the type."

                "Met many werewolves, have you?" Sirius asked amusedly. 

                "I'm a Malfoy, am I not? Don't most people assume that we live in a dark castle and perform blood rituals and Satan worshipping?" she asked with a smile. 

                "Don't you?" Sirius continued with a wink. 

                "Well, maybe my father does," she smiled.

                "I know Harry used to think along those lines. Probably not with such vivid imagery as you have brought to the table. But you changed his mind, I think." Sirius stared at Imogen. 

                She busied herself with her notes. "I can't tell him."

                "Why? Don't you think he would understand?"

                "I'm afraid," she admitted. 

                "That he won't look at you the same way he looked at Lucy. You haven't changed. You're still the same person," Sirius tried. He reached out and took her hand. 

                She set the notes aside and looked up at him. She had tears in her eyes. "I've done things that Lucy never would have done. D'you know what the first thing most people say to me when they meet me is?"

                Sirius stared and shook his head. 

                "They say, 'you look like your mother'. I think if I were ever to be Lucy again, it would stomp on her memory. I can't be like her anymore." 

                "Dale would have wanted you whether or not you were like her. I can say that with authority. I knew her well."

                Imogen blinked. 

                "Do you want to risk him finding out in some other way? He doesn't like being lied to," Sirius continued. 

                "I know I have to tell him. I just can't right now." Imogen got up from the table and left immediately for her room. She wouldn't get any sleep, but at least she could hide a little while longer. 


	16. Wherever You Will Go

Disclaimer: The characters, places and situations of the Harry Potter series belong JK Rowling. Mine are the originals. 

Author's Note: I would like to claim the writing genius of the _West Wing_ writers, but I cannot. Therefore, I have to admit that the line, "I have such an impulse to knock your heads together right now," is from that show. 

Chapter 16

Wherever You Will Go

_"And maybe I'll find out _

_A way to make it back some day_

_To want you_

_To guide you _

_Through the darkest of your days_

_If a great wave shall fall_

_It'll fall upon us all_

_Well, then I hope there's someone out there who_

_Can bring me back to you…"_

_The Calling: 'Wherever You Will Go'_

                "So, are you Harry's girlfriend?" Anni asked as she and Imogen watched Hermione disappear into Flourish and Blots. 

                "No," Imogen replied simply. She pulled her dress bag over one shoulder and crossed the street after Anni. 

                "It's a good color on you. But you know it's rude to show up the bride," Anni asked with a raise of her eyebrows. 

                Imogen smiled an evil smile. "I didn't want to take it off, but I don't think she would let me wear it out of the store," Imogen added. 

                "So, why are you staying with Harry and Sirius for the holiday? Are you related to Sirius?" Anni asked. 

                "No. I'm homeless and he felt sorry for me," Imogen replied. 

                "Right. A homeless girl who just dropped five hundred pounds on an evening gown." Anni favored her with a skeptical look. 

                "I said I was homeless, not destitute. Besides, you said it looked good on me," Imogen replied. After seeing Hermione to Flourish and Blots, Anni and Imogen decided to return to Muggle London to continue looking around. 

                "You have amazing taste, Imogen Spencer. You didn't need me to tell you that it looked well on you." Anni turned a corner. "So, has Harry told you about our family yet? And by tell, of course I mean warn."

                "No. Is there something abnormal about them?"

                "You could say that…just not to their face," Anni began, taking a seat by the window of a bakery. Imogen followed suit, eyeing her warily. 

                "Best just come out and tell me then."

                "Harry's aunt and uncle, my aunt and uncle, do not like wizards. Don't be surprised if you hear the word "freak" a lot. It's Aunt Petunia's favorite. And then there's Aunt Marge. I'm sure she'll have one or two of her dogs in tow. Her particular favorite pastime is bad mouthing Harry's parents. He handles it very well, though."

                "And they'll be at the wedding tomorrow?" Imogen asked, wide-eyed. "Why on earth would you invite them?"

                "My parents made me," Anni shrugged. 

                "That's got to be difficult to plan a Muggle-Wizard wedding when half the guests don't like the other half." Imogen shook her head and then smiled, "How did you do it?"

                "Well, it was really Mr. Weasley's idea. He's met our Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon before and knows that they dislike his family. He suggested that we meet them on their own turf, so-to-speak. We're having the ceremony on Hempstead Heath. My mother insisted. But the reception will be at the Burrow. A lovely compromise. They don't have to attend the reception if the don't wish to."

                Imogen bit her lip, "They sound awful. I guess I never realized that it could go both ways. I never thought that there were Muggles that hated wizards." She shrugged. 

                "I've never met a wizard that hated me," Anni admitted with a shrug. 

                Imogen smiled. "I don't imagine that you ever would. You're lovely."

                "Thanks. Do you know wizards who hate Muggles?"

                "A few," Imogen admitted. "Is that why we're all to wear Muggle clothing tomorrow?"

                "No. I just don't like robes. And what I say goes," Anni insisted. 

                Imogen nodded.  "Shall we head back? They must be done by now."

***

                "I don't know what it is. But she's got a secret, that one does," Ron said, turning as the tailor pulled and prodded at his jacket. "I look like a prat!" he added with disdain surveying himself in the mirror. 

                "You look fine, Ron," Fred said in a placating tone. 

                "You don't like her?" Harry asked, blinking with surprise. He never would have thought that his best friend would disapprove of her. 

                "She hangs out with Malfoy, Harry. What are you thinking?" Ron said evenly. 

                "She's not a bad person," Harry argued. 

                "What sort of a spell has she got you under? She even looks evil," Ron countered. 

                "Ron, don't be so paranoid," Harry said agitated. He dropped the conversation. 

                "She's cute, Harry," George offered, glaring pointedly at Ron.

                "So, have you two been up to the Astronomy Tower yet, or have things not become that serious?" Fred chimed in. 

                Harry heard Ron make a noise of disdain. He blushed at the thought. "No. We've been to the roof below the Astronomy Tower."

                George blinked. "Are you being metaphorical?"

                "No, you idiot. He's saying that he was sitting up on the roof holding her hand. Of course Harry hasn't snogged her. She's a Slytherin." Ron stepped down from the stool and the tailor took his jacket. 

                Harry didn't say anything. 

                The bell above the door rang announcing a newcomer to the shop. A few seconds later, Anni emerged holding a dress bag. 

                "Where's Imogen?" Harry asked. 

                "I traded her to some skeazy man on the street for this dress," Anni replied in monotone. "She went to Diagon Alley for something. She said she'd meet us here."

                "Is that her dress?" Harry asked. 

                Anni nodded. "It's beautiful."

                "Well, let's see it," Fred demanded. 

                "You're such a pouf. What do you care what her dress looks like? Afraid that you'll end up wearing the same thing?" Anni shot, laying the bag over the next chair. "Very sharp, love," she said to George, winking as he emerged in his tuxedo. 

*** 

                Imogen had made a hurried excuse when she saw him and ducked into the Leaky Caldron. It was Minister Grey. She followed, confident that he did not recognize her in the form of Imogen. 

                She grasped at the bracelet in her coat pocket, deciding whether or not she should change or stay this way. 

                Though he was concealed behind a dark navy cloak, the hood drawn mysteriously over his head, hiding his face, she knew him by his walk. 

                Keeping what she estimated to be a safe distance, she trailed him until he turned the corner into Knockturn Alley. From the advantageous location of a ridiculous joke shop, she watched him through the front window. Only once had some annoying man with dred-locks and a name tag that claimed he was Lee interrupted her snoop and asked if she needed assistance. 

                She shrugged him off expertly, setting her bags down at her feet and watching from her stakeout position. 

                She couldn't have been sure, but she thought that the tall man that had followed the Minister into the small alleyway was not a man at all. Only for one fraction of an instant she caught sight of a ghastly, unearthly hand, looking as if it had been rotting underwater. Was it a Dementor? She had not caught enough of a peek under its hood to be exactly sure. 

                At the corner of her vision she caught another familiar pair. It was Jill and her son Gabriel, heading for the Leaky Caldron.  

                As she looked from them back to the Minister and his mysterious partner in the alley, she caught a curious sight. They were watching Jill and Gabriel's progress down the street and into the pub with interest. 

                Looking back at the mother and her son, Imogen thought that they could have been staring at anyone else in the crowd. Was she being paranoid?

                When she turned to look closer at the Minister she was surprised to see that both he and his tall companion were gone. 

                She blinked. What was he up to?

                "Hey, don't you go to school with me?" a boy asked coming to stand next to Imogen. "Who are you spying on?"

                "Yes, I believe I do go to your school and it is none of your business who I am or am not spying on. You're in Ginny Weasley's year," Imogen said, picking up her bags. 

                "I'm Colin Creevy," he said, holding out his hand. 

                Imogen took it impatiently. "Imogen Spencer." She kicked herself. Her other disguise would have been less recognizable. She should have changed into Ruthie. Only then, the Minister would have recognized her and what would be the point in that? "It's a pleasure. Have a happy holiday. I must be off."

                She knew it was rude. But, politeness would have to wait. 

                She darted out of the store and made a line for Knockturn Alley. The small space between the two crooked shops that the Minister had disappeared down were empty. She cursed and stomped her foot. 

***

                "It wasn't funny!" George raged as the tailor was taking up the hem around his ankles. 

                "Oh, yes it was!" Fred countered. 

                "You have to admit it was," Anni sided with Fred. 

                "What happened?" Hermione asked, taking a seat next to Anni. 

                "I was supposed to meet Anni's parents for the first time. I had it all planned out what I was going to say and everything. I was going to go very traditional and ask her father's permission and all," George began. 

                Fred took the ball and ran with it. "We had Lee make up some excuse, Anni and me, to keep him at the store. I went in his place, playing the gentlemanly boyfriend. Needless to say that when he finally did get to meet Anni's parents they hated him. They still do, I think."

                "It was great!" Anni laughed. 

                "No it wasn't great!" George argued, exasperated. 

                "What did you do?" Ron asked with a grin. 

                "They asked him what he did for a living," Anni answered, "and he told them he was a pimp."

                Fred grinned. 

                George scowled. 

                "Oh come on George, that was ages ago!" Fred raged. 

                "Yes, love. And you really were asking for it when you picked April Fool's Day to meet them. Did you honestly think that Fred and I would leave that one alone?" Anni asked. 

                "I can just imagine how your father reacted," Harry said, smiling. 

                "He threw things!" Fred laughed. 

                "That sounds about right," Harry agreed. 

                The bell at the front of the store rang announcing another customer. Imogen appeared at the back seconds later looking distracted and pale. 

                "Are you all right?" Harry asked. 

                "Hmm?" Imogen said, coming slowly out of her thoughts. "Oh, yeah. It's snowing again."

                "Ooh! Lovely," Anni squealed, clapping her hands. 

                "What's in the bag?" Harry asked. 

                "Shoes," Imogen said. "What's that?" she asked, pointing to a bag sitting next to Hermione. It was moving. "A Christmas present," Harry said simply, standing in front of it. 

"Is it for Fang? It's wiggling."

                "Er…yeah…for Fang," Harry said. 

                Imogen eyed him and then picked up her dress. "I'm going to head back to Sirius'. I'm a bit tired," Imogen announced finally. 

                "D'you want me to come with you?" Harry asked. 

                "No, stay with your friends. I'll be fine." She turned to the others, "Have a happy Christmas. I'll see you tomorrow evening. Thanks for your help, Anni."

                "Bye," Anni said as they all watched the curious girl leave with her armload of bags. 

***

                It was nearing nine in the evening, Christmas Eve. Fred and George were thoroughly pissed by now and Anni nearly as bad. 

                Hermione had wisely cut Ron off and Harry had had none of it. 

                He had passed the last three hours watching Anni, Fred and George make complete fools of themselves with Tom's encouragement. "It's their special day tomorrow. They have all night to sleep it off," the bar keep of the Leaky Cauldron had said. 

                Angelina had left only ten minutes ago with the threat, "I have such an impulse to knock your heads together right now." Harry was almost sad to see her go. He would have loved to see her knock Fred and George's heads together. It seemed since they had been out of school, Fred and Angelina had been off and on, but never serious. She walked out in anger after Fred had demonstrated his upchuck reflexes all over her shoes. 

                "Come on. I suppose I'll have to explain all of this to your mother," Hermione said, facing the fact that someone had to tell Molly. 

                "Do you need help with all of them?" Harry asked. 

                "No, Ron's not entirely wasted," Hermione said, smiling. "Goodnight, Harry." Turning to Ron she said, "Take Fred's hand." Ron did as he was told. Harry was soon standing in the alley behind the Leaky Cauldron by himself. 

                He Apparated only moments after that. 

                "Did you have fun?" Sirius asked. He was playing with a little gray kitten in the front room. Fang was, as usual, asleep by the fire. Imogen was nowhere around. 

                Harry nodded. "Where's Imogen? She didn't see her did she?" he asked jerking his head toward the cat. 

                "No. She wanted out. I couldn't leave her in that box, Harry," Sirius said, tugging at a string and watching the kitten chase it. "She's upstairs."

                "How's Mrs. Figg?" Harry asked distractedly, looking up the stairs. He didn't see Sirius' grin.

                "She's fine. Out of the hospital. You don't want to know about Arabella. Don't be such a coward, Harry. Go talk to her."

                "I'm not a coward," Harry said indignantly, stomping up the stairs. 

                "Who called you a coward, Harry?" he heard rather than saw Imogen, who had asked. She was hidden behind an open closet door. 

                "What are you doing?" Harry wondered. 

                Imogen looked down from her perch on a step stool, her arms above her head. She was reaching for a blanket. "Putting an extra blanket on your bed. Honestly, you boys are helpless around here. It's promising to be a very cold Christmas morning."

                "Do you need help?" Harry asked. 

                "No, I've got this."

                "Imogen, you don't have to do this, you know?" 

                She stopped and favored Harry with a surprised look. "Do what?"

                "You did the dishes this morning as well. You don't have to work to earn your keep," Harry said. 

                Imogen stared at Harry for the longest moment. He stared back. 

                "Harry?" Sirius called from downstairs. 

                Harry looked away from Imogen reluctantly. "Yes?"

                "I've got to go to the office for a while. Hopefully, I won't be long," Sirius called. 

                Harry went downstairs, leaving Imogen to her task. 

                "Is there something wrong?" Harry asked, coming into the kitchen. Sirius handed him the kitten and shrugged on his coat. 

                "No. Corbin wants to go over some notes." He reached for the doorknob, but turned. "Don't stay up too late. Tomorrow'll be a long day."

                Harry nodded and watched him go. 

                He took the cat and shut it in Sirius' room for the night and went to his own room further down the hall where Imogen was spreading the extra quilt over his bed. 

                "Why do you think I'm doing this to earn my keep?" she asked solemnly. 

                "You just don't seem like the housework type," Harry admitted with a shrug. 

                "Don't you like me looking after you?" Imogen came to stand in front of Harry. He pulled her closer to him and kissed her forehead. 

                "Very much," he grinned. 

                "It's getting late," Imogen observed. 

                Harry nodded, still smiling. 

                "Don't get any ideas, Mr. Potter," she warned. 

                "Absolutely not."

                "Tell me something," Imogen said, pulling away from Harry and sitting back against the headboard. 

                "What?" Harry asked. 

                "Is your family as nasty as Anni made them sound?"

                "Probably," Harry said. "Where did you get that scar?" Harry asked, changing the subject. 

                "What scar?" Imogen asked, furrowing her brow. 

                "This one," Harry said, running a hand along her stomach, lifting her shirt slightly. There was a vertical scar running nearly the length of her midsection. "I saw it when you were reaching for that blanket."

                Imogen took a deep breath. "A five hour surgery," she admitted. 

                Harry raised his eyebrows in shock and blinked. "Surgery for what?"

                Imogen thought for a moment. Now was the time to tell him. But she couldn't do it. She pulled away from him, shrinking from his touch. She pulled her shirt down over the damning mark and stood. "You should go to bed."

                She went into her room and kicked off her shoes. 

                "I'm sorry if I said the wrong thing," Harry began. 

                Imogen turned and stared at him. "Are you planning on following me all the way into the shower?"

                Harry stood and stared as she shut the door. He heard the tap begin to run and then he turned and left. 

                He came into the front room where she had laid her bags and her coat. He picked them up and brought them into her room. 

                As he laid the dress over a chair, fighting the urge to have a peek at it, his hand brushed against something in the pocket of her coat. 

                He reached inside and brought out a bracelet—a bracelet he had seen on Imogen before, but on another as well, he realized. He had seen it on the wrist of Elena Vassikin as she bound his hands and dragged him out of the room Lucy had died in. She was there. She had killed her. And this bracelet belonged to her. 

                His mind reeled and he became very dizzy. There had to be a reason that she had Elena's bracelet. How much did he know about Imogen? He couldn't explain any of this. He didn't know what to think. 

                "What are you doing?" Imogen asked, standing in the doorway, a towel wrapped around her. 

                Harry averted his eyes and she blushed. 

                "I just need my nightdress."

                Harry said nothing. His thoughts, his senses were deadened by confusion. He was made very aware of the pounding of his heart. He desperately grasped for some logical thread of reason. The only thought he could cling to was that she was Elena, she had killed Lucy. 

                Without feeling, the bracelet dropped from his hand. It made a dull clunk on the hardwood floor. 

                Imogen, Harry noted with contempt and the most painful feeling of betrayal, saw the bracelet drop from his hands, eyes widening with realization. 

                After several excruciating moments, neither of them knowing how to proceed, Harry spoke in a distant voice. "It's hers isn't it? Elena's bracelet. I felt the cold sting of it when she bound my hands behind me and drug me from the room, the last place that I ever saw Lucy alive. You killed her, didn't you, Elena? I saw the blood on your hands."

                He came menacingly close to her, pinning her against the door. His eyes flashed with something like hatred. Hatred in the eyes of someone who was rarely accustomed to that feeling was a pain all the more acute. Imogen winced. 

                "Harry, you don't understand. I need to tell you something," she began. Her voice trembled, not with fear of the person that had her trapped but with fear of the situation. This moment had her trapped. She could deny everything, keep her secret and lose him forever. Or tell him and lose his trust forever. A very claustrophobic situation for anyone. Added to that the stress that she had lived with for the past week, the pent-up secrets and plans that she was unknowingly bound to keep for her father, she broke down. 

                The tears that breached the damn of her sapphire eyes were wasted on Harry. He looked on her cold and unfeeling, unaffected. "Five hour surgery? You fought with her, didn't you? She put up quite a fight. She wasn't as easy to get rid of as you thought she'd be. She gave you that?"

                "Yes," was all she could manage between sobs. 

                "Scars aren't easy to live with, are they?" he asked, staring coldly into her pleading eyes. "That will be your reminder." He walked past her. 

                "Harry, please wait," Imogen begged. She reached out and grabbed his arm to stay him. 

                Immediately he wrenched himself out of her grasp. "I saw the blood on your hands!" he raged. "There's nothing you could say to convince me." He took the stairs two at a time, eager to be as far from her as possible. He stormed through the front room and threw the door open. 

                "Where are you going? Please stay and hear me out," she called after him as he retreated down the busy Muggle street. The snow was coming down harder now but neither seemed to heed it, Harry without a coat and Imogen standing on the front steps in a towel. Several passersby stopped to stare at the scene. She made a hasty decision, the truth or lose him for good. "I killed Elena. It's me, Lucy."

                She noted with a trembling heart Harry's pace slowing and then, finally, he came to a stop. Please, turn around and hear me, she pleaded silently. A moment later he did. 

                It was like a vice grip of hatred that was squeezing his heart, finally ceased. He stopped, unsure if this were just a cruel torture or, even further off than that—the truth. Unable to decide his next move, he acted without thinking, as logically as he could manage. He turned and favored her with a discerning glare. He knew, as he saw her standing there, her shoulders rising and falling with deep anticipatory breaths, tears streaming down her face, wide fearful eyes, bare feet; that she was telling the truth. 

                The realization almost knocked  him off of his feet. He searched for words. None described the thoroughly confounded, off guard feeling that seized him in that instant. "Go back inside. You'll freeze to death out here," he managed in a more hollow tone that he would have liked. 

                He heard a small sob come from her as he turned and continued down the street. He couldn't sort this out on his own. He needed friends, dependable and honest friends. He Apparated to the Burrow in search of Ron and Hermione. 

***

                "It's absolutely extraordinary," Corbin concluded, shuffling through Lucy's Polyjuice notes.  "If she can actually get a patent for this…well, she'll be one very famous little girl."

                Sirius was nodding impatiently. "And…did you find anything that would help?"

                "Well, from my understanding, she's only ever tested it on herself. There are two different forms. That's important to understand."

                Sirius nodded again. "I'm with you. Keep going."

                "The first is a strict pill form of the Polyjuice Potion. Once mixed with the DNA containing item of the subject you wish to become, it can be stored with that specific DNA and changing capability indefinitely."

                "What does that mean?" Sirius asked. 

                "It means that it has a shelf life of basically forever. And it's handy because it's not in potion form. Miss Malfoy is a brilliant chemist and at her age…" Corbin eyed the notes appreciatively. "Do you know what we could do if we had this sort of spy capability?"

                "Get to the point," Sirius begged. 

                "Right. That's the one she used to become Elena. I guess she somehow got a few strands of her hair or something. The next form is an entirely new potion. It works on the principles of Polyjuice…but also has some slight implements of Dark Magic," Corbin continued cautiously. 

                "Dark Magic?" Sirius asked, rubbing at his temples. 

                "Only a bit. Real old stuff. There are hardly any laws restricting this type of study as it hasn't been used really for decades. She has basically created new people. Imogen Spencer and Ruthie James fall under this category, among who knows how many others. I really don't see how she could keep it all straight."

                "You said yourself," Sirius sighed, "she's brilliant."

                "Yes. So, you said that Lucy Malfoy is paralyzed from the waist down. This would present a big problem for someone who would want to disguise themselves, especially in the wizarding world."

                Sirius agreed. "There can't be many people in the wizarding world that are wheelchair bound."

                "One out of every ninety-three," Corbin stated authoritatively. "And that's for the whole of Europe."

                "How did she do it?" Sirius asked. 

                "It wasn't a big problem where she wanted to use an entirely made up identity. They have their very own DNA. Imogen Spencer had never had damage done to her spinal column and therefore, neither has Lucy in the form of Imogen Spencer. The same goes for Ruthie, etc." Corbin took a breath. "The traditional Polyjuice Potion had to be tinkered with." He smiled. "Do you want to know how?"

                "That's why I'm here on bloody Christmas Eve, isn't it?" Sirius shot impatiently. 

                "Salt. Sodium Chloride. It reacts with the unstable acids in the mugwart. She was able to mix this one (because it needs an element of the subject you want to become) with the other one that doesn't and _voila!_ She can walk!" Corbin finished with a flourish and Sirius blinked. 

                "You're serious?" he asked. 

                "Of course," Corbin stated simply. 

                "Then if she were able to walk…maybe…if she fought Elena and by some miracle of a chance survived, she could have escaped using Elena as a disguise." Sirius' mind was reeling as everything seemed to fall into place. 

                "That's absolutely right!" Corbin confirmed. "I asked Kirin at the Ministry. He was with Arabella when she did the final scan of the ruins. He confirmed that they fished Elena out of the water. Not twenty minutes later, she was Lucy. That's when Arabella cut her a deal." Corbin shrugged. "If I were a scared, fourteen-year-old girl, just killed two people and escaped barely with my life, I would be likely to accept."

                Sirius nodded. "Why would Arabella do it though?"

                Corbin shrugged again, visibly pleased to have all of the answers. "She hates Lucius Malfoy. She must've hated Lucy for her part in Peter's conviction as well."

                "That was his choice to turn himself in. Not Lucy's. If she needs someone to blame, she should blame me. I couldn't get him off. Lucy just gave him a conscience." Sirius stood to leave. "Thanks again. You've been a big help."

                "Give my love to Arabella. Tell everyone, happy Christmas for me." Corbin began to pack up his stuff and head out as Sirius was doing. 

                "I will. Happy Christmas, Corbin," Sirius offered before Apparating. 

                "Happy Christmas to you too," Corbin smiled and disappeared. 

***

                "Harry?" Ron asked, opening the door with some surprise. 

                "Who is it, Ron?" Hermione's voice called from behind the door. She emerged, looking at Harry with concern. "You look frozen to death. What are you doing out there?" she asked in a shrill voice. 

                "I need to talk to you two."

                Ron nodded and shut the door behind Harry as he entered. 

                Hermione was busy at the stove putting a kettle on to boil. 

                "What is it?" Ron asked, as Hermione came to sit next to him, across from Harry. 

                Harry looked miserable, confused. His friends were unsettled and visibly worried for him. "You were right, Ron," he said simply. 

                Ron blinked. "About what?"

                "About Imogen."

                "Ah, evil incarnate," Ron said with a superior nod. He lurched and then whimpered a bit, which could only mean that Hermione had dealt him a hard kick to the shin under the table. 

                "No. The opposite, actually." Harry hesitated, wondering if his friends would think him as crazy as he was about to sound. "She's Lucy Malfoy."

                Ron blinked. "You're joking?"

                "Of course he isn't, Ron," Hermione chided. "Actually, that makes sense. Did I ever tell you two that it was Elena that saved us?"

                It was Harry's turn to stare this time, but as always, Ron stared too. "What?" Ron asked in disbelief. "That woman is a snake. Why would she help us?"

                "Think about it," Hermione continued patiently. "It was Elena that killed Lucy. If she somehow managed to overtake Elena," Hermione said, moving toward the stove and removing the kettle, pouring three cups of tea. "How else could she have escaped and why else would Elena have helped us?"

                "I liked Lucy too, even though I don't care much for the rest of her family," Ron said slowly. "I didn't want her to die any more than you did, Harry. But, something's not right here. I think it's got to be Elena."

                Harry stared at him, apparently not convinced one way or another. He sipped his tea. 

                "How did you find out? Did she tell you?" Hermione asked. 

                "No. I found her bracelet. It was one that Elena was wearing the night she killed Lucy. I've seen Imogen wearing it a few times, but I never made the connection." Harry stared at the grain of the table and thought things out slowly. 

                "She is Lucy. I know," a voice said from somewhere behind him. Harry turned to see Ginny standing at the bottom of the stairs staring frankly at the three of them. 

                "Go back to bed, Ginny," Ron said, not unkindly. Ginny turned to leave. 

                "No, wait!" Harry said. He stared at Ginny who held his gaze for a long time. Hermione and Ron shot questioning glances at each other. "Sod it! I've messed up thoroughly, haven't I?" Harry asked with much alarm. 

                Ginny merely nodded. 

                "Do you know if she's still there?" Hermione asked urgently. 

                "She was there when I left," Harry said, standing. 

                "Boys are hopeless idiots," Ginny stated blandly. "You should have heard her out. She could be long gone by now and it would serve you just as well." She favored Harry and Ron with twin expressionless looks. "But you two are a special breed of idiot, aren't you?"

                Harry ignored her and stormed out.

                "Yes, thank you, Ginny. That was very insightful." Hermione smiled, sipping her tea and watching the door swing shut behind Harry. "But, for his sake, I hope she stayed to wait for him."

                "She did," Ginny answered decisively, turning to climb the stairs and shut herself back in her room. 

***

                Harry pushed past Fang who had gotten up from his place by the fire to greet him. Ignoring the dog he bounded up the stairs and threw the door to Imogen's room open. She was not there.

                He looked to the chair where he had laid her things. Her coat was still there. 

                Coming slowly to the spot he had dropped her bracelet, he bent and picked it up guiltily. He'd had the chance to change everything. He had been given back his chance at happiness. And just as he had it, he had thrown it away. 

                He was unsure if he would ever see her again. 

                He walked slowly to his room, looking around momentarily, holding out some vain hope that she was here. But there was no such luck. 

                He looked at his bed disdainfully. He wouldn't be able to sleep knowing what he had done, what he had given up.

                Resignedly, he trod slowly back down the stairs and came to the fire where Fang had returned to his rug. He watched the mournful dog wag his tail slowly in a vain effort to cheer him. 

                By chance only, the small figure on the couch moved, breaking Harry's attention from the dog. A shock of silver blond hair under a thin blanket caused his heart to leap. 

                "Lucy?" he asked. Remembering the last moments he had seen her alive, asleep just like this on a sofa in her family's home. Her cheeks were stained with tears now just as they had been then. Only this time she was crying because he had left her. He would never make that mistake again. There was another mistake that he never planned on repeating again: silence. 

                That was what he had regretted the most the moment he knew that she was gone. He never told her anything. He just watched her sleep and wondered if she felt for him what he was feeling for her. He knew now that she had. 

                He bent and slowly brushed a corn silk curl from her brow and kissed her. Whatever it was that he would have to do, to give to God for such a mercy and unfathomable kindness, he would. He was more than overjoyed to have her back. He was renewed. 

                Her eyes fluttered open and immediately she tried to sit up. She frowned slightly as she realized that she was Lucy again and incapable of movement below her waist, making it impossible to sit up. 

                "Don't move," Harry said placing a hand on her cheek, brushing away the tears that he had caused. 

                "Where did you go?" she asked in a whisper. 

                "Nowhere. I won't ever leave you again. I was stupid," Harry promised hastily. 

                "I need to explain something to you," Lucy began, grabbing Harry's hand and pressing it between her very cold hands. 

                "No. You don't need to explain—," Harry said. 

                "Yes. Please let me tell you why I lied to you. You deserve to know."

                "I deserve nothing. I don't deserve you especially," Harry said, kissing her forehead. 

                She smiled and wrapped her arms around him, winding her fingers through his hair, cold and damp with snow. Harry kicked his shoes off and lay next to her on the sofa, allowing her to rest her head on his chest. He amused himself with wrapping her curls around his fingers as she endeavored to explain the entirely confusing tale. 

                "I guess I should start at the point when I saw Elena in my room. I guess she Apparated since the wards were down. I didn't know what to do and, out of reflex, I grabbed for my bracelet.

                She came at me and grabbed my collar. She broke the chain of my necklace, the one my mother gave me. I heard it snap."

                She felt Harry nod, his chin brushing against her forehead. "I found it on your pillow. That's how we followed you. It was a portkey."

                Lucy took a deep breath and continued. "I was there for a long while. I'm not really sure how long. Peter was there."

                "Peter?" Harry asked, alarm in his voice. "Did he hurt you?"

                "Peter?" Lucy asked in a disarming way. She slid her hand down his arm interlacing her fingers with his. "No, Peter would never have hurt me."

                Harry made no effort to contradict again and let her continue. 

                "Then, my father came in and made some speech about how I was in the way and how he didn't like the way I influenced my brother and how he wanted me to die, blah, blah, blah. But he left. Apparently, my blood was not good enough to sully his manicured hands. He left it to his henchman-woman, Elena. Oh, I forgot to mention, Peter broke a mirror. There were shards of glass on the floor, handy weapon. I struck Elena before she struck me. I used her as a disguise and changed her into me. There always has to be a body."

                "How?" Harry asked. 

                "Oh, I've been working on a form of Polyjuice Potion in pill form. I plan to be the youngest person to file a patent with the Department of Experimental Charms. It's portable and doesn't taste as foul."

                "There's a blessing," Harry laughed. 

                "I keep that bracelet stocked. I'm always spying on one or another of my father's comrades. I've tinkered with it so that I don't have to worry about paralysis. I mean, it's kind of fishy if I'm bound to a wheelchair in every form. The use of my legs comes in handy when spying."

                "Why not use that instead of a wheelchair?" Harry asked simply. 

                "Because, taking that sort of potion…or pill…makes me someone else. I liked being Lucy, lame and all. It has advantages. You'd be surprised what sort of stuff I can get away with just because I'm handicapped." She smiled up at him as he furrowed his brow. 

                "That's messed up. You know that, right?" 

                Lucy shrugged. "People underestimate what I'm capable of and I let them. It allows me…certain freedoms. Anyway, off topic here. I became Elena and Elena became dead. Draco's going to hate me for that…but I deal with the people I've wronged one at a time.

                I knew I had to be the one to haul you into the ceremony room. Anyone else would have made sure that you were tied super tight. I gave you enough room to get free. Sneaked around behind the big guy. Slit his throat and took down the wards."

                "You did all of that?" Harry asked, thoroughly surprised. 

                "See. I'm underestimated. That allows me a lot of freedom. Why give that up? Walking is overrated. And actually, Peter helped too. He sabotaged Voldemort's immortality brew. So even if I failed and we all died painful deaths, he wouldn't have survived if he drank that."

                "And what happened after that? Why live as Imogen and have the rest of us believe Lucy was dead?" Harry asked. 

                "Arabella found me and arrested me. I was still Elena, mind you. When she found out who I really was, she wasn't much more lenient. I'm still a Malfoy after all. And I'm a murderer. It was either prison or spying. Since it was my hobby anyway, I chose the latter. It seemed simple at the time. But coming back to school to watch after Draco was torture."

                She propped herself up on one elbow and looked Harry in the eye. "That's why I created Imogen in the first place. Draco tried to kill himself the summer after his fourth year. I didn't want to lose him and I thought I might. I enrolled under the assumed name of Imogen Spencer and told them to place me in the house with the most room. There was only one Slytherin girl in my year, most convenient."

                She lay back down and took another deep cleansing breath. "So, now that you know, do you miss Imogen?" she asked tentatively. 

                Harry gave this some thought. There is always a pause when the jury leaves to consider their verdict. He shook his head, "I don't see the difference between the two of you. You are the person I love, both of you are. I can't make the distinction. 

                Lucy's heart swelled with relief. "You aren't disappointed in that fact that Lucy turned out to be so devious?"

                "No. You're still the same. I would love you regardless."

                "You would even love a murderer?" Lucy asked, tears forming in her eyes. 

                "If you can bring yourself to love a murderer," he said evenly, wiping her cheek and kissing her nose. She smiled in relief. 

                "Oh, we are a fine pair of deviants!" Lucy laughed. 

                Harry was quiet, in thought. "What about that scar?"

                "Five hour surgery," Lucy said. 

                "What really happened?" 

                "Would you believe it was a riding accident?" Lucy tried. 

                "No."

                She exhaled and dropped her head again. She could hear his heart beat. It was gently lulling her to sleep. She felt her eyelids becoming heavy. "Internal bleeding," she began. 

                "What?" Harry said, startled. 

                "Just after I had come home from my first year, it would have been Draco's fourth year, I had overheard some of my father's plans. Your name came up, actually, in conjunction with the Tri-Wizard's Tournament. I always listened in on his meetings. Sometimes he found out and sometimes I was lucky."

                She felt Harry's chest rise as he took a deep breath. "Lucy," he said, apprehension infused in his tones. 

                "Do you want me to stop?" she asked. 

                "No," he answered decidedly. 

                His hand, rubbing small circles on her back and shoulders relieved some of the tension she felt in revealing such a personal detail. She had decided that she would keep nothing from him. She wanted him to be a part of her life and that meant every aspect of her life. 

                "He never wanted me. I wasn't like him. He hoped Draco would be. But he'd given up on me since almost my birth. That time, I woke up in the hospital two days later. Draco told me that I would never walk again, and that was that."

                "I'm sorry," Harry said. 

                "I'm not." Lucy was decided on this point. "It was the turning point for Draco. His illusions of our father were gone, finally. I would do it all over again for him. He wouldn't be the same person he is today if that hadn't happened. I don't regret it. I would have regretted losing him to my father and his plans."

                Harry lay in silence slowly working his way through every piece of information that she had told him that night. He wrapped his arms around her and thanked God for restoring her to him, to them all. He wouldn't have been the same person if she'd never come into his life. He could imagine that there were many other people who would have said the same thing. 

                "You're an amazing person, Lucy. I'll love you forever. I'll go wherever you will go," he whispered and kissed her head crowned with wild downy curls. 

                He realized that she was asleep and soon, he was asleep as well.  


	17. The Ring Bearer

Disclaimer: The characters and places of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringements were intended and no money is being made from this story. All characters not associated with the Harry Potter series belong to me. The quote, "I lent voice to thought and therein lies my mistake," comes from the TV series _The West Wing_. Nona, the rocker with a nose ring, comes from the Bowling For Soup Song 'Girl All The Bad Guys Want.'

Author's Note: Once again, I am drawing on some themes presented in Philip Pullman's series _His Dark Materials _particularly _The Subtle Knife. _My deepest apologies for not having all of the correct diacritical marks on the lines in French. I just can seem to get my POC computer to do it right. If only Draco could speak German instead!

Chapter Seventeen

The Ring Bearer

_"I may never find the sleep _

_I've lost all feeling in my hands and _

_Feet may touch the ground _

_But my mind's somewhere north of here…"_

_Caedmon's Call: 'Somewhere North'_

_                She wanted to turn back. She'd seen enough to convince her that her father was implementing his most devious and evil plan yet. This would cost millions of lives, even more if she stayed silent. She had the most heartbreaking urge to run back the way she had come and free those poor children. They had no idea what was about to happen to them—a fate far worse than death. They would soon be a feast for the dementors and then he would have an army willing to fight for him until death. _

_                Her feet urged her forward. _

_                She saw them. She saw it happen. One small blond girl, shaking like a leaf in a bitter cold wind, was pulled from the cage and escorted by one brutish-looking man with an unfeeling scowl. _

_                She opened her mouth to cry out. She looked to her father who wore a satisfied grin. She had trained herself to remain silent. It would be her fault if this army caught everyone by surprise. She would have let it happen. _

_                One tall, gray shrouded figure with ghastly pale rotting skin reached out for the girl who recoiled at the sight. Grabbing her by the hair, it removed the hood that had until now mercilessly kept its revolting head unseen. _

_                Helpless, the little girl struggled against his grasp, a steel grasp. _

_                She felt a wave of cold and revulsion pull her down and felt a searing pain as her forehead connected with the ancient stone of the dungeon floor. _

                Lucy cried out and threw a hand over her mouth, regretting to wake anyone. 

                The lighted Christmas tree in the corner of the front room afforded all of the early morning light. She could see that she was alone on the sofa. Everyone else must still be asleep, she thought thankfully. 

***

                Lucy was still asleep when Harry heard movement in the kitchen. He knew it was Sirius. He got up from the sofa as gently as possible, careful not to wake her and moved toward the kitchen where light was visible under the door. He needed some questions answered and Sirius would be the one with the answers. 

                Hearing the kitchen door open behind him, Sirius turned from the stove to see Harry standing there expectantly. He was still in the clothes he'd worn out last night. 

                "Are you just now coming in?" Sirius asked, picking the gray kitten up from the floor and setting it on the table with a saucer of milk. 

                "No. I was home by eleven. How did everything go at the office? Anything wrong?" Not waiting for Sirius to answer, he added, "Not that you would tell me if there was."

                Sirius frowned, looking at him discerningly for a few seconds. "What's really bothering you, Harry? I know you don't care what it is I do at the office."

                "Only as it concerns Lucy. You know how it is that she came to be unconscious at the edge of the forest when I found her and you're not telling me. No one will." Harry favored Sirius with a stern and unmoving glare. 

                "Didn't she tell you?" 

                "No," Harry replied evenly. "It was her father again, wasn't it?"

                Sirius exhaled in an exhausted manner. "Sit down, Harry," he said, taking a seat himself. 

                Harry did as he was told and stared expectantly, waiting for Sirius to begin. 

                "Did she explain to you what happened that night in Ravenclaw's castle?"

                Harry nodded. "She said that Mrs. Figg and her team found her and thought she was Elena. They arrested her. But when they found out that she was Lucy they cut her a deal."

                Sirius nodded. "She's been working for Arabella. I only knew her as Imogen, one of her spies. She asked Imogen to spy on Lucius Malfoy, knowing what experiences she'd had previously. Lucy had made it her life's work to inform on her father."

                "Why didn't you stop her? Did Arabella know that he's tried to kill her at least twice before this?" Harry asked. There was a palpable edge to his voice. 

                Sirius shook his head mournfully. "I wish I had known Arabella's true intentions for her before all of this had happened."

                "So, the two of them were planning this behind your back, Corbin's back?" Harry asked evenly. 

                "I think if either of us had taken a harder look at the situation, we would have figured it out. Sadly, neither of us did."

                "She easily could have died," Harry said angrily. "And for what? What did you all think you could get out of him?"

                "Peter had mentioned a few of Lucius' pet projects. If we could find out what he was planning exactly, Corbin and I think Arabella might have used it in a bargain for Peter's life."

                "And you cared more about saving Peter, a man who deserved what he got, than about a girl who almost died. She didn't do anything wrong. She only killed two people to save herself and the rest of us. If they send her to prison, then I should go to. I've killed someone too…Or is this just because she's a Malfoy?"

                Sirius sighed. He knew this conversation would come eventually. And he knew that Harry would number him among the guilty along with Arabella. He was guilty. He let this happen. But he couldn't make Harry understand what he didn't want to understand. "I'm not sure of Arabella's reasoning. She isn't well enough to explain it herself. Peter's death has left her shocked, in a state of suspended reality. The doctors don't know if she will ever talk again."

                "Well, there's an easy way out," Harry spat. 

                "I understand your anger, Harry. I was angry as well. I admit that I should have figured this out. I could have stopped it sooner. But who's to say that she wouldn't have gone after her father to begin with, without Arabella's invitation?"

                Harry sat there in silence for a moment. "Where will she go after this?"

                Sirius shrugged. He was relieved that Harry didn't blame him further. "She'll finish out the term at Hogwarts. She won't be placed back in her father's care, if that's what worries you. Her grandmother…" Sirius paused for a moment. Harry noted the expression of regret and pain that crossed his face only momentarily. "Her grandmother was killed not long ago. She would have gone back to France to live with her."

                "You knew her, didn't you?" Harry asked. "Like you knew her mother."

                "They were both very exceptional people," Sirius said. "As is Lucy. I guess, if her father hasn't been apprehended or her brother found by the end of the term, I will be appointed her temporary guardian. She has no other family."

                "Malfoy's missing?" Harry asked, perplexed. 

                "Draco? Yes, he is. He disappeared a day or two before Lucy was attacked. Ginny was one of the last to see him. He left her a letter, vaguely explaining why he had to go. We assume it has something to do with his father."

                Harry thought about this for a moment. "Draco hates his father. He wanted to kill him the night Lucy died."

                "He doesn't hate his father anymore than I hate him," Imogen said, standing at the kitchen door in her nightdress. 

                "Do you have any idea where he might have gone?" Sirius asked her as she came to sit next to Harry. 

                Imogen shrugged. "I don't know. But I'm not worried about him. My father would never hurt him. He'll come back." She looked at the kitten and smiled. "Who is this?" she asked. 

                "Oh," Harry said, with a certain disappointment. "She was meant to be a surprise. Happy Christmas."

                Imogen blinked, shocked. "For me? Oh, how wonderful. What is her name?" she asked, reaching a tentative hand across the table to stoke the small gray kitten with a finger. 

                "I don't know. What do you want to call her?" Harry asked. 

                "I've always been told that I'm crap at naming things," she frowned. 

                "By who?" Sirius asked, laughing. 

                "Draco. He said that Master Shakespeare was a poncy name for a horse. That's my horse, by the way, Master Shakespeare," Imogen explained. 

                "Malfoy's a—," Harry began, but was interrupted hastily by Sirius. 

                "Why don't you think on it. I'm sure she won't mind going nameless for a little while longer."

                "Did you have her all shut up inside of that bag yesterday, Harry? Is that what was wiggling and trying to get out?" Imogen asked, leveling a shocked glare at Harry.            

                "She liked it," Harry lied. 

                "You poor thing," she said to the kitten, picking it up and following Harry and Sirius into the front room to open presents. 

***

                He only planned to stay in Paris for a few days. 

                It was probably the last time he would feel this at home wherever he was. He would never be able to return here…and he could deal with that. But there was one thing that he could not deal with leaving behind—no matter how much pain it had caused him. It was the painting that hung in his room at his grandmother's city home. It was the painting of him and his sister at ages seven and three. He had never been particularly fond of it. Lucy had always liked it. It was why he felt he might miss it if he left it there. 

                He planned on leaving tonight. He hadn't decided where yet. 

                It was Christmas in Paris. Draco felt the snow and the charming avenues of the city calling him, telling him to leave his depression aside for just one moment longer. He missed his mother and his sister, but he could do that and walk at the same time. 

                Throwing on a coat, Draco pushed the front door open and walked out onto the busy rue du Grand Cours. Having no particular destination in mind, Draco wandered aimlessly for hours, numb to the cold, numb to feeling. His thoughts wandered with him and took him to a place he didn't expect to see again. It was the coffee shop that he had first run into Ginny. He remembered clearly her hurried apology when she had spilled her coffee all over him, quickly rescinding that apology once she had recognized him. 

                If anyone were to have told him in that instant that she was the one girl that he would end up loving forever, he would have laughed in their face. But it was true. 

                He briefly wondered if it had worked, if Ginny hated him for leaving her alone…for the last time. He wondered if he had the will left to do anything, so much of it had been spent just to convince himself that this was the only way to keep her from harm. It would have been so much easier to promise her forever and to stay with her, the way he wanted to. 

                With a quick resolve, he pushed the regret aside and moved on, avoiding the park across the street and a slew of other fond memories that would rent his already abused soul to pieces. 

                Somewhere in the distance, across the icy river, he heard the church bells from the cathedral.

                Without thinking, he turned and headed in that direction. 

                On the steps he met a pathetic wretch in rags, presenting a charity case for those who made their way inside the sanctuary. 

                Draco dropped him a few bills without looking down. 

                Grabbing the money and also Draco's hand, the homeless man called his attention down to him. Draco felt a slight indignation arise in him. 

                "Merci," the beggar said, shaking his hand. 

                Draco was speechless for a moment and then replied, "De rien," still staring, struck by the unguarded connection. 

                "Joyeux Noel, monsieur," the man smiled. 

                Draco blinked and then took refuge inside the dark and lofty, yet confining space. The place was packed with people. Worshippers milled about as the heavenly sound of children's voices, like angels in their purest form, sang 'Oh Come All Ye Faithful' in Latin. 

                Draco kept to the outer aisles, leaving the middle of the sanctuary for those who'd come to worship. He was there to hide. 

                On the edges of his memory, he could barely make out the last remembrance he'd had of being inside of a church. It was Lucy's christening. He was three years old. He couldn't remember much other than the white dress she wore. He couldn't have said what his mother or father was wearing, or what the priest said. But he could remember the great cloud of unease that surrounded the ceremony. He could tell his father's displeasure in the very way he stood. His mother had been just the opposite. 

                And like an indulgent but none too pleased parent, his father had consented. Like a vile, homeless animal, Lucy had been treated from almost her birth as unwanted. His mother had gotten her way, she could keep the child. But he wouldn't pretend that she was a blessing. He had never treated her as he did his son. And Draco wouldn't understand that for a long time. 

                "Good day to you my son and a prosperous New Year," a clergyman of unknown status came up to Draco as he quietly studied the stained glass. 

                Draco looked on him, expressionless. He didn't care for kindness of any sort today, not even the unsolicited kind—especially the unsolicited kind. 

                "Pere, you are wasting your time. I merely appreciate the architecture," Draco said simply. 

                "It is merely man's feeble attempt to describe His greatness," the priest insisted. 

                Draco looked from the window, the Virgin and the child Christ, to the old man. "Ah, yeah. Great guy, God"

                "You have reason to doubt His greatness, my child. Everyone does. That is what faith is for," the old man counseled. 

                Draco turned to give him his full attention. "Are you telling me that I should have faith in a God who tortures the innocent, glorifies the wicked and can turn and spin it all around to feed his flocks on Sundays?" Draco asked, gesturing with a sweeping hand at the masses of people filing through the church behind him. "I've seen His infinite mercy. He let my sister die cold and alone, bleeding to death in some strange impersonal stone cell while my father still lives, the man who's made her life a hell and her death an injustice. Keep your doctrine, Pere, and feed it to the gullible. I'll buy none of it today."

                "Faith is believing beyond all of that. He is not deaf and he knows your pain, my child," the old man said in a tone that suggested wisdom thousands of years old. 

                Draco brushed past the priest and out of the doors, down the south entrance steps to the moss covered banks of the river. 

                He thought it vaguely cliché to want to throw himself into the churning river. Here of all spots, he wanted to end it all. How many people have read _Les Miserables and thought that it might not be an unpleasant way to end it all. _

                It was his promise to Lucy, never to try it again, that stayed him. 

                Distracted for a moment he pulled the chain and silver fleur-de-lis that Lucy had worn until her death from his underneath his shirt. He stared at it for a long time wondering if he had ever felt this acutely alone. He hadn't guessed he ever had. 

                Instead he settled for leaving. He wrapped his coat around him, pulling a half-empty bottle of scotch from one pocket and headed back to the house and then, wherever his feet would carry him after that. 

***

                Despite his appeals to Harry to be gracious when Arabella arrived with Mae Lupin. Sirius feared that Arabella had lost his trust forever. It did seem as though she went out of her way to make Lucy's internment as her spy less than pleasant. He understood how it must seem for Harry. Arabella was the reason that he found Imogen coughing up blood and nearly unconscious just a few short weeks ago. He didn't expect forgiveness on Harry's part, just a bit of understanding for someone who was suffering as much as Arabella was at the moment. 

                She sat in silence throughout the meal, never letting go of Mae's hand. For Mae's part, she looked as though she enjoyed being needed again. Sirius suspected that it was hard for her around Christmas with Remus so recently gone, only two years dead this coming June. She missed her son probably more than Sirius could comprehend. 

                "Harry, it's time you got ready. The wedding party will want to be meeting early," Sirius instructed. 

                Arabella had been invited as a friend of Arthur's and Mae had been close friends with Molly and so had decided since they were already celebrating Christmas at Sirius' house that they would all go together. 

                Harry got up without a word and left as he was told. 

                Sirius and the two women retreated to the front room while Imogen insisted that she could clear the dishes herself. 

                "Still nothing out of her?" Sirius asked Mae as she fussed over Arabella. 

                "Not a sound. She cries sometimes at night. And how are you doing, dear?" Mae asked, her old eyes discerning Sirius' anxiety. He could hide easily from others, but his mother and Remus' had always been different. 

                "I'm fine, worried for her," Sirius admitted. 

                "Nonsense. She will do just fine. You've lost a friend too Sirius. It's all right to grieve."

                "I wish I had the time to," Sirius countered. "With Remus, it happened so fast and then there was Harry to worry about. I was in prison when it was James that had died. I didn't even get to attend the funeral. Peter…I still don't know what to make of it. I have pushed him out of the pleasant memories for so long it's hard to remember exactly what he meant to me." He stopped and looked at Arabella. "To us all," he added mournfully.

                "You were as thick as thieves, the four of you were," Mae said with a fond smile. "It's tough. You're the only one left now. Don't do the memories an injustice by letting them go. It's okay to remember the good times as well as the bad." She removed a case that she had brought in with her that morning. Handing it tentatively to Sirius she explained, "It was Remus' father's. Did he ever tell you that his father played?"

                The shape of the case gave it away. Sirius shook his head. "I can't accept this, Mae. I don't play anymore."

                "Nonsense. You play very well. I heard you at my son's funeral. And then you went and did a fool thing like throw your instrument in his grave."

                Sirius' eyes grazed over the case. His fingers went to the locks which made a loud click. "I gave it to him. He always said he lacked the talent," Sirius said, remembering the many practices Remus had listened in on. 

                "No. He said that he would rather appreciate your talent. Remus didn't get to do a lot of things he would have liked to. Playing was one of them. I want you to have this. Remus would have wanted you to have it." Mae looked on Sirius with a firm, but motherly determination. "I've had it tuned and everything. It only waits for you to play it."

                "There were only three people that would hear me play," Sirius said, lifting the blood red violin from its case. It smelled of rosin and ancient wood. It must have been in the Lupin family for ages. "My mother who is dead, my friend who is dead, the love of my life who is dead."

                A voice broke him from his mournful reverie. "They still hear you, though." It was Imogen, Lucy standing in the doorway of the kitchen. It would have been something that Dale would have said. 

                Tentatively, nervously, Sirius put the bow to the strings. 

                Imogen listened from the doorway with a smile. She had been so wrapped up in his playing, remembering the stories her mother used to tell her about the boy at school with the genius for the violin. She hadn't exaggerated. The instrument seemed almost an extension of himself. It sang with his touch. It was mournful, the tunes he played, but it was the memory of his lost friends and it lived on. 

                "Help me, Lucy," Harry asked from behind her, bringing her out of her thoughts. She turned to see that he had made a mess of his bow tie. She laughed while she straightened it. Harry's hand moved around her waist as she reached up and fixed his hair as well. 

                "It's Imogen, by the way. I can't tell everyone just yet," she whispered, careful not to interrupt Mae's concert. 

                "Okay, Imogen," he said. 

                "Does that bother you?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. 

                "No. I don't want you to have to hide anymore. But I know why you have to," Harry answered. 

                "I love you, Harry," she said, leaning forward to kiss him. 

                "I love you too," he replied. 

                "Go, or you'll be late," she said finally, handing him his coat. 

                "See you there," he said, taking it and moving toward the door. 

                Imogen waved as he left and then turned her attention back to the violin. 

***

                "Five minutes." Sirius' warning came before she'd seen him pass by her door. A smile crossed her face as she saw him pass, note her briefly and then continue on down the hall. Moments later he reappeared, stunned, mouth gaping. 

                "Wow. That dress is…You look radiant," Sirius said. His lack of eloquence was flattering in a way she was sure Lucy had never felt before, especially after her accident. It was a rare moment when her reflection in the mirror was without fault. Tonight she felt as if those compliments were hers to own…and she did own them. 

                She gave herself one last appraising glance in the mirror. It was as Anni had said…a fabulous color on Imogen, a deep red that made her dark features and black hair all the more dramatic. "Lucy never would have been able to pull this color off," she admitted with a smile. 

                Sirius smiled. "I have something for you down stairs," he said, holding the door for her. 

                She glanced at him curiously as she passed out of the room, trying to discern what his angle might be. "We've already had presents," she said as she descended. 

                "It's not a Christmas present."

                In the front room where Mae and Arabella waited for them, Sirius handed her a large and squishy package. She didn't know what to make of it. 

                "Open it," Sirius urged. 

                She did. It was a cloak in the deepest shade of red. She was awestruck at the beauty of the garment for just a moment, before… "You had a peek at my dress, didn't you?"

                "Just a little. I needed to know the color," Sirius admitted. "I thought you might need a new one. You can't very well wear that torn one."

                "Thank you. It's lovely," Imogen smiled as Mae helped her into it. 

                The ceremony would be starting in half an hour. Imogen was curious to meet the infamous relatives of Anni and Harry's and was eager to meet up with Ginny again. They had a lot of discussion to cover. She prayed as they Apparated to London that she would find the time and a quiet space at the reception to tell Ginny her thoughts about her father and his scheme. 

***

                "Are you ever going to tell me what happened?" Ron asked, sitting beside Ginny and eyeing her suspiciously. 

                "Even if I remembered anything, what makes you think I'd tell you?" Ginny asked evenly with a shrug of her shoulders. 

                "Oh, you can't tell me? Who can you tell? Malfoy? Your new best friend, Lucy?" Ron continued, visibly harassed. 

                She eyed him patiently. "Ron, don't start. And don't say her name out loud. Her father's still looking for her, you know." She watched him seethe next to her. "You need not worry about _Draco_, he's nothing to do with me anymore. I doubt we'll be seeing him anytime in the future. But I thought you liked Lucy?"

                "I do, I guess," Ron ventured. "I just don't trust her that much. I mean, disguising yourself for all that time. It's not right. Harry was upset by her death, you were. Does her brother even know?"

                "She had her reasons, Ron. And no, Draco doesn't know."

                Ron favored her with a discerning frown. "You sure you don't remember anything?" 

                Ginny sighed and restrained herself from doing him physical harm. "I'll go see if Anni needs any help."  Ginny got up without another word. 

                Harry showed up in that instant. Ginny was relieved that he was there, if only to serve as a distraction for her brother and his conspiracy theories. 

                "Wow, Gin. That dress is nice," he said simply, favoring her with an appreciative smile. 

                She smiled back faintly and offered a humble, "Thanks." Wouldn't they love to know that it was a gift from Draco when he'd invited her to the opera over the summer? She disappeared into the adjoining room where Anni's maid of honor, a black-spiked rocker chick with a diamond stud in her nose was chain-smoking nervously under Hermione's disapproving glare. 

                "Ginny," Anni said distractedly. "You've met Nona, haven't you?"

                Ginny smiled at the girl in black and offered a small, "Nice to meet you." She stared in wonder and thought it odd that the three girls in front of her had all attended the same primary school. She never thought she would have to fit Anni into the comparison as the "somewhere in the middle" to Hermione's and Nona's extremes. 

                "Ginny, wow. That dress is amazing," Hermione said with a bright and admiring smile, surveying the expensive cut of the deep green dress she wore.

                "Yours is very nice too," Ginny returned the compliment, remembering that Hermione could clean up very nicely. It faintly reminded her of the Yule Ball in her third year. Hermione was in nearly the same color as those dress robes she had worn, her hair in the same neat knot. 

                Ginny turned to Anni in an apologetic tone and said, "I hope the color is fine. I didn't have much time to shop."

                Anni appraised her for a moment and then laughed. "Just as long as you don't wear white, I couldn't care less." She turned to Nona and added, "Honestly, I should be the one chain-smocking here. You're making _me nervous, Nona. Put those out."_

                "Five minutes," Anni's mother, Marianne, announced at the door. 

                Anni nodded. She turned around when her mother left the room and expertly stuck her tongue ring back in. 

                "You're honestly going to wear that today?" Hermione asked, surprised. 

                Anni smiled. "Watch the Dursleys when you pass." She offered with a wink. 

                Hermione smiled slightly. It seemed a good enough answer for her. 

                Anni tripped only once on the way to the altar. Ginny wasn't sure whether it were on purpose or a genuine accident, both were likely with Anni. As she passed her uncle, she stuck her tongue out—a sort of F-You to his anti-freak stance. Her father nudged her on after Vernon turned visibly purple. Ginny could hear Mrs. Bennett scoff indignantly from somewhere near the front. 

                It was a good thing, Ginny thought, that she was paying attention to her daughter as she made a scene down the aisle and didn't notice her future son-in-law and his brother making shadow puppets on the priests robes and the altar. She was sure Petunia Dursley had caught that though. 

                She walked with Ron, who wouldn't look at her, apparently mad at her for something or another. As Fred was officiating as best man, he walked with Nona the chimney, who, mercilessly, had left off smoking for chewing gum. 

                Harry and Hermione in front of her and Gabriel as ring bearer and a pretty little flower girl from Anni's side of the family rounded off the small wedding party that would have been larger had George managed to convince Bill and Charlie to be in it. They refused to wear bow ties. 

                Ginny made a small wave in Imogen and Sirius' direction and was forced to shove a bony elbow in Ron's ribs as he made an irritated noise. 

                Thankfully, George was distracted enough by Anni's presence at the altar that he left off the childishness long enough to take her hand. 

                There was an indignant and proud scoff from the bride's side of the family as Anni made a face when the priest said her full name, "Annabelle Marjorie Bennett."

                Ginny smiled. She'd heard stories about Aunt Marge, but didn't think it appropriate to crane her neck around in order to put a face to the name. She fought curiosity throughout the ceremony, convinced that she would finally get a peek at the famed old crone at the reception. 

***

                "An Animagus, huh?" Imogen smiled with an approving air. Her smile widened as an amusing question came to mind. "So, have you ever had the urge to lick yourself, or drink from the toilet?" She laughed as Sirius made a face. He was a very graceful dancer and she wondered vaguely where he had picked it up. 

                "Once when I was very drunk. I don't remember it, but James swore to me the next day that I had drank from the toilet." He smiled wryly. "But I don't think I was in Animagus form when that happened."

                Imogen pulled a face and made to stalk off the dance floor. "Where is Jill? I think she has the right to know what sort of a hound she's getting mixed up with."

                "You tell her and you die, Spencer," he threatened. 

                She saw Harry approaching. He had been busy with Ron and Hermione and hadn't much paid any mind to her. She had taken it personally at first, but realized that she would have to get used to the fact that she had two best friends to compete with for his attention, and they had tenure. Not to mention the occasional swarm of fans that accosted him in public every so often. 

                He came to stand behind Sirius and cleared his throat for attention. "May I dance with my date?"

                Sirius seemed reluctant at first to give up such a splendid partner, but conceded in the end. 

                He crossed the dance floor and then turned, giving Imogen a charming wink and disappearing off of the floor with Jill. 

                "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten what I looked like," Imogen said, pretending to be put out. She noticed Harry blush slightly. 

                "No," He admitted. "I'd notice you anywhere. You're…you…" Harry struggled for words. 

                Imogen beamed. "I'm never taking off this dress. Honestly, Lucy never had this much fun."

                Harry's expression fell. 

                Imogen's followed. "Is something bothering you, Harry?" she asked, pressing a warm hand to his cheek. 

                "I'm sorry…" he began, still unable to put into words what he wanted to say. 

                "Sorry for what?" she asked. She was growing frightened. He had acted this way right before he'd told her that he couldn't love her. He'd left her alone and brokenhearted and she never wanted to feel that way again. "For God's sake, Harry just say it," she begged with wide eyes. 

                "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said finally. "I did love you. I just couldn't admit to it then. I was afraid that I was letting Lucy down. I know it doesn't make any sense," he explained. 

                She shook her head. "Harry, I understand. I know why you did it. It still hurt, but it was justified."

                "I never want to be a cause of pain for you," Harry said, searching her eyes for a reaction. 

                She just smiled and kissed him, throwing her arms around his neck. "I have something for you," she said. Behind him she moved her hand over her left wrist and removed the bracelet, her implement of spying. She had drained it of its contents—a symbol of her commitment to giving up her old life. 

                She handed it to him. 

                Harry took it and stared. 

                "I'll tell everyone tomorrow. I don't know if that means I'll get in trouble, or if charges will be brought against me." She shrugged, looking doubtful. "I mean, I did kill two people. But I'm leaving off my disguise. I'm not going to hide any more. I'll be who you want me to be."

                He stared at her speechless. "I want you to be you…whoever that is. If it means that you won't be forgiven, that the Ministry will hunt you, don't do it. I don't want you to—," Harry began nervously. 

                "I can't be someone else forever, Harry. I may be dishonest, spying, cheating, murdering Imogen, but I'm more Lucy…and a Malfoy. The truth is…I'm tired of hiding. I want to be called by _my _name. I want to hear you say it."

                Harry was unsure how to react. A faint smile passed over his face and she took this to mean that he agreed. 

                She smiled a relieved smile and leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. 

                "I love you, Lucy," he whispered. 

                "And I you, Harry," she said. 

***

                "Hermione, stop fussing for just one second!" Ron said, vying for her attention as she kept sentinel, eyeing the Dursleys, prepared to stave off any disaster. 

                It was warm. Wards had been placed around the garden of the Burrow. Everything was in an enchanted, Springtime bloom. Arthur had really gone out of his way to make this special.   

                "I have something I want to tell you," Ron said in a pleading tone. 

                Hermione, looking around for Ginny, making sure that she was having a pleasant time, turned momentarily to appease Ron. 

                "So, tell me then," she said. 

                "Not here. Can we go somewhere else?"

                "You want to skip the party? Ron, that's not very polite," she admonished. 

                "So, it's my brother. Who cares?"

                Satisfied at seeing Ginny conversing with a French girl named Sophie that she vaguely remembered being introduced to as Bill's date, Hermione nodded and left with Ron. 

                Ron had already gotten her cloak and his and led her out of the wards where the snow was falling in a magnificent cloud of white and silver in the late evening. 

                Hermione shivered at the considerable change in temperature and pulled her cloak around her. "What was so important that you dragged me away from the party where it was warm?" she said in a hassled tone. 

                "This," Ron said, pulling her toward him and kissing her. He pulled his cloak around the two of them as the snow fell in glimmering drifts all around. 

                She pulled away and stared at him, expressionless. "You dragged me out here to make out?"

                "No," Ron said simply, keeping her declining mood in check. "I wanted to tell you that all of my life I never expected to be this happy. George is lucky. I couldn't help but think, the whole time I was standing there and watching them, seeing how happy the two of them were, that he would never be as happy as you have made me."

                Hermione had not been expecting this. She went a few shades redder than her cheeks had already been from the cold. She placed a hand over her mouth as she broke into a wide grin. There were tears in her eyes.

                "You've made me happy too, Ron. I hope you know how much," she said after a moment. 

                He nodded. "I know a lot can happen between now and then, but when school's over I want to marry you." He stared at her for a long moment. She seemed shocked, speechless. And then a small squeal emanated from behind her gloved hand. She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. 

                "Yes, Ron. I'll marry you," she said, pecking his cheek, forehead and lips wildly. 

                "Hermione, you're hurting me," Ron laughed. She was squeezing him so tight that his airflow was being threatened. 

                "I love you, Ron," Hermione said, relenting just slightly. 

                "Hermione, I love you more than life itself," Ron replied, burying his face in the lengths of her cloak that bunched at her shoulder. 

                Reluctantly, both agreed to head back to the party before Mrs. Weasley began to miss them. She hadn't fully come out of her state of worry since Ginny had come back. Ron guessed that she probably never would until Ginny could explain where she had been. 

                They also agreed not to tell anyone about their engagement until about a week after the wedding. It really was George and Anni's day. They wouldn't have been justified in stealing it away from them. 

                But they had to tell Harry. It would be unforgivable not to give him a heads up. 

***

                There was a large woman at the edge of the crowd, glaring at her and Harry. A dog sat at her heels, looking just as horrid as she did. She was sipping Champaign disdainfully. 

                Harry hadn't noticed her. 

                Squeezing her arm slightly, Harry left her and headed off in the opposite direction, after Ginny. Imogen looked after him and noted sadly that Ginny didn't look well. Apart from being sick, coming down with what might turn out to be a nasty cold, Ginny was also standing off on her own at the moment, staring at a tree and draining a Champaign glass of its contents. 

                After Harry had left, she turned her attention back to the glaring woman. It was time she introduced herself to Aunt Marge anyway. She made a straight line toward the large woman, eyeing her with a less than kindly stare. 

                Imogen passed a waiter on the way over and deftly snatched a glass from his tray, draining it.  Her eyes never left Marge's. She threw the finished glass over her shoulder as the distance between her adversary and herself diminished. 

                "Marge is it?" she asked with an elegant raise of her eyebrows. To her displeasure, if any one had been paying attention to the two, they would have noticed that she resembled her father very much in that moment. 

                "Yes, it is, young person," she said, blinking in a displeased manner. 

                "Did you know that it is rude to stare?" 

                "Rude? You presumptuous little beast. You're one of Annabelle's disgusting urchin associates, aren't you? No respect for your elders, absolutely none," Marge raged. 

                An evil grin broke across Imogen's face. "No. I am not a friend of Anni's." She waited a moment, letting the full weight of her words break across Marge's understanding. 

                "So," Marge said with a serpent-like air. "You're one of _them. That society of layabout dillusionists who call yourselves __magical." She eyed Imogen appraisingly. _

Imogen, for her part, held her ground, staring and listening, unmoving.

 "No good. The lot of you are no good. Vernon told me about you. I must confess that I didn't believe him. You're all an evil race. I should have known that boy was no good. And to go associating with _you people. It's the worst kind of disgrace. Poor Petunia, what she suffers on account of associations like that! No good, useless, freaks! His parents were the same way."_

                Imogen listened politely. It was rude to interrupt—under any circumstances. Casually she lifted the hem of her dress. She knew it was very undercover-like to have your wand strapped to your leg. But really, in a dress, where else could you put it? She removed it calmly and leveled it at the woman who raged on in front of her. 

                As she stopped, she stared down the wand, at the child who held it level between her eyes. 

                "I may look very young and inexperienced to you. I'm not. Please heed me when I say that if you ever speak ill of Harry's parents again, I will use whatever means necessary to make you sorry." Imogen stopped and eyed the dog at her feet. Slowly her eyes moved back to rest on Marge. "Do you care to test my knowledge of curses? Perhaps hexes? I know five different ways to render your vital organs the consistency of ash." Her eyes flashed with the intent to back her talk up.              

                Marge scoffed at her, visibly ruffled, but determined to leave with the upper hand on this child. 

                "Doubt me, do you?" She leveled the wand at the small and ugly dog at the woman's feet. "Perhaps a demonstration, then."

                Marge let out an indignant howl, scooped her dog into her arms and turned to beat a hasty retreat. 

                Imogen smiled and called after her, "It's rude to turn your back to someone. It shows poor breeding." 

                Marge made no attempt at a last challenge. She didn't even look back. 

                With a satisfied grin and under the stare of several guests, Imogen replaced her wand and walked away in the opposite direction. 

*** 

                "Are you all right?" Harry asked tentatively, coming to stand behind Ginny. 

                "I will be when people stop asking that," she said with a smile, turning to face him. He noticed with a little unease that there were tears in her eyes. "Honestly, do I look like I'm about to fall apart?"

                Harry looked at his feet, unwilling to answer. 

                Ginny glared. "Don't answer that."

                "Is there anything I can do?" Harry asked sympathetically. 

                "Alcohol is working better at the moment," Ginny said with a wide grin. "Besides, I think you might have a disaster to stave off, Harry Potter."

                Harry looked at her quizzically. 

                Ginny merely pointed past him with her half empty Champaign glass. 

                Harry turned and with much alarm saw what Ginny was smiling about. Imogen had Marge staring down the end of a wand. 

                "Oh, God!" he said, racing off in the opposite direction. 

                Ginny couldn't help laughing at them. Everything just seemed infinitely more hilarious to her tonight. She drained the glass and threw it against the trunk of her companion tree. Weaving a little, she watched the scene break apart in disappointment. Marge went in one direction and Harry and Imogen in another. She was sad that Imogen hadn't hexed the old bat. It was getting pretty dull around here. 

                She settled instead on the amusement of the small ring bearer who was the target of a well organized chase mounted by the flower girl who was hell bent on a kiss. 

                Imogen broke off from Harry as he was stayed by Ron and Hermione claiming there was important news that he needed to hear. 

                She was concerned with Ginny and in need of her exclusive conversation. 

                Grabbing up her new cloak, she headed toward the edge of the garden where Ginny had just assaulted a pine tree with a Champaign flute. 

                "We need to talk," Imogen said. 

                "I'm through talking," Ginny said with a smile, refusing to give her attention from the two children racing through the dace floor full of people to Imogen. 

                "Are you drunk?" she asked.

                "Maybe. No. I don't think so," Ginny said, her answer becoming firmer. 

                "Grab your cloak. We need to talk."

                Ginny hesitated for a moment. A new song had just begun. _Fly Me To The Moon. Ginny frowned and threw her cloak around her shoulders and scoffed at the band, wishing she had something to throw. With a new resolve, she took Imogen's arm and headed out of the wards and into the small wood beyond that. _

                "What's bothering you?" Imogen asked when they were at a safe range to begin talking. 

                "Nothing…everything," Ginny began. "I think I'm going crazy. I'm having the weirdest dreams and then I can't remember anything when I wake up. I lost a whole day, Lucy. And then I end up in your pajamas unconscious in my garden."

                "I think it might have had something to do with my father," Imogen admitted. She gave Ginny a tentative stare. 

                Ginny blinked. "See, I lent voice to reason and therein lies my mistake. How could it have had anything to do with your father?"

                "When I went to spy on him…" she shook her head, desperately trying to clear it. Her heart was beating rapidly. This had been her secret, her torment for more than a week now. And she was about to expose someone else to it. She was fast doubting Ginny's capabilities to handle it. "He's creating an army for Eowyn." She stopped and looked at Ginny. 

                "Yes, I already know that," Ginny said. "Old news."

                "He's been using children," Imogen continued. 

                "Oh God!" Ginny said, thoroughly and properly horrified at this new bit. 

                "It's a sort of soulless army of children. Powerful. They don't have a will of their own. Ginny, he used dementors on them. I saw it."

                "I saw them too. In my dreams. It was a little blond girl, hacking at a Gryffindor knight. It was terrifying. How do we stop it?" Ginny asked. She was stronger than Imogen had taken her for. Though she was physically and mentally worn out, her reserves of strength and unfathomable comprehension of things that Imogen had only a few days before struggled at comprehending was amazing. 

                Imogen bit her lip. "I was hoping that you had visited Mungo. I was thinking that maybe he had an idea."

                Ginny shook her head. "Maybe he did. I wouldn't know. He and Faramir were too busy playing James Bond and blowing your cover. I didn't get a chance to find out."

                "Great," Imogen said, defeated. 

                "I'm sorry. I wish I knew. But, Imogen, isn't this sort of their thing? Should we even get involved?" Ginny asked. 

                "It's not theirs entirely. My father is back there instigating something. If he implements some of our modern magic…" she shook her head gravely. "It could alter time completely. Maybe that's what he's trying to do. Besides, they're our friends, aren't they?"

                Ginny nodded. "You're right. How could we help?"

                Imogen thought. "I don't know. It's freezing out here, though. Let's think it over in the morning."

                Ginny nodded her agreement. They headed back to the party to find it in a chaos. Most of the guests had left. The Weasleys stood back in a solemn line with Hermione and Harry who watched on in shock as Sirius tried to calm an irate and frantic Jill. 

                "I just turned for a second." She was wailing hysterically. 

                "No!" Ginny said, racing into the scene. Bill immediately took her hand as if to assure himself that he would know where she was at all times. She didn't resent this, she was in too much of a daze to register it. 

                Imogen went pale and knew immediately what had happened. 

                She expertly slipped away from the charged scene. They wouldn't find him there. Only she could get to him. 

                She moved onto the garden path and entered the Burrow at the front entrance, undetected. 

                She silently climbed the stairs and entered the door on the first landing, Ginny's room. 

                Without a word, steeling up as much resolve and courage as she could, she removed her Time-Turner with a trembling hand. On the chain next to it was a small silk sack. It contained one last Polyjuice Pill. This was going to be dangerous. If it didn't work, she would very well never see this place again. But then, neither would Gabriel. That was the thought that spurred her into action. 

***

                The solemn party moved into the house where Mrs. Weasley put on some tea. They had arranged themselves around the kitchen table and somehow made it accommodate their numbers. 

                Jill was still frantic. She wasn't speaking anymore, just shaking her head and rocking back and forth. 

                Arthur went straight to the Ministry. 

                Sirius went to see Dumbledore and then to see what Corbin could find for them. 

                Among the crowd in the kitchen were two people very unfamiliar to Ginny. She hadn't noticed them before. A blond woman and a man desperately trying to maintain control of his senses. They looked almost as worried as Jill. 

                Molly went to them first with tea and said, "They'll likely turn up. They must have gotten out of the wards somehow."

                The woman nodded vigorously, vainly clinging on to this simple hope. They must have been the parents of the flower girl. She must have gone missing along with Gabriel. 

                Ginny was lost in thought and jumped slightly as she heard Harry's voice behind her. "Ginny, weren't you just with Imogen?"

                She blinked and then turned to face him. They both scanned the room. She wasn't there.  


	18. Fields Of Dead

Disclaimer: I own my original characters. Rowling owns the rest of the Harry Potter characters, places and situations. Philip Pullman is the creator of the _His Dark Materials_ works. I took a few concepts from them. 

Author's Note and Thank You's: First off, I'd like to apologize. I didn't thank anyone last week for reviewing. I was being selfish and absent minded. But you all know how much I appreciate your input and so I know none of you will begrudge me one tiny mistake. 

Oliverwoodsgirl: that's so cool that you can read fanfiction while you're at school. I wish I could. But the UF libraries are so crowded that someone would probably be reading over my shoulder and thinking "_Freak!"  So…I hope Gabriel's real involvement doesn't disappoint you. You had some pretty good ideas, but none of them hit on the all too simple truth. As you wished: there is a scene in which Draco finds out about Lucy, but as I warned before: it's not pleasant. _

Hibiscus: Thank you for your review. I know you must be busy and all but thank you so much for finding a moment to say a few things about each chapter. Your input is very helpful and I look at things a lot differently after your reviews—see something new in my characters. That's more valuable than you know. 

Linda: I know you're out there somewhere and are intending to review again soon. But if you don't, your last one will sustain me for a while. It was long (always good) and quite encompassing in general pros and cons of the entire story. I always love a word of encouragement or criticism from you. 

And Sara (soupofthedaysara): you know none of these chapters would have been written had you not chained me to the computer and forced me to write them. 

Chapter Eighteen

Fields of Dead

"I can be anything that you want me to be 

_A holy cross, some sympathy, oh_

_That reminds you not to bleed_

_I found a note down in your car_

_And you climbed up here to fall apart_

_Fall apart…_

_Hold your head high_

_Don't look down _

_I'm by your side _

_Won't back down_

_You wanted a hero tonight_

_Well, I'm not made of steel _

_But your secret's safe with me…"_

_Our Lady Peace: 'Made of Steel'_

                "They can't be far," Charlie was saying, not giving Ginny the chance to answer Harry. "Let's just search the grounds. They could have just wandered out of the wards and into the wood."

                Ginny knew this wasn't true. She and Lucy would have seen them when they had come that way. 

                Everyone but the distraught parents of the little flower girl, Molly and Anni left the table. Ginny hurried to the door and up to the first landing before she heard Bill calling her name from the kitchen. "Ginny, come with me?" Bill asked. She understood that he didn't want her out of his sight and so nodded and took her cloak from his outstretched hand, shrugging it on and following him out the door. 

                "Wait, Bill," she had heard Harry as she made her way out into the snow alongside her brother. "Can Ginny come with me? She can show me the best places to climb trees. Gabriel likes trees."

                It was a boldfaced lie and Ginny knew it. How could a four year old climb trees?

                Apparently Bill had bought it. 

                "I'd like her to stay with me, Harry," Bill said only turning slightly as he made his way to a stand of trees at the back of the house. "But you can come with us if you'd like."

                Ginny knew that Harry's interest merely rested in the fact that he wanted to get her alone and find out what she knew about this situation that no one else knew. He looked at her briefly before turning to Bill and taking him up on the offer of joining the search party. 

                Ginny kicked herself moments later when Bill raced off at a sound deeper in the forest, commanding them to stay where they were. 

                Ginny eyed Harry warily but said nothing. 

                Harry sat on a tree stump and blew into his hands. Clouds of frigid breath came out between his fingers as he stared at Ginny expectantly. 

                Finally he said, "You know where they are? Don't you?"

                "I have an idea…a completely absurd idea of where they might have gone, yes," Ginny said plainly. 

                She kicked a little drift of snow in her highly inappropriate-for-walking-through-the-forest-in-snow shoes. 

                "Why do I get the feeling that no matter how absurd it might be, where you suppose they are, they very well might be?" Harry asked with mounting apprehension. 

                "Because I am a seer and that's not something you can question," Ginny said bluntly, staring at him, daring him to make the accusation that she knew was coming. 

                He surveyed her for a moment, his patience wearing very thin. "And why is it that you are still here, pretending to be looking for two children that you know very well are nowhere around here at all, but are in very real danger?"

                "Because Lucy knows her father and what she can and can't handle? If she had wanted either of our assistance she would have asked for it." Ginny turned and began to walk back to the house but was stopped by a harsh word from Harry.

                "Why are you walking away?" he asked. 

                "I have someplace to be," Ginny said and continued walking. 

                Sometime later Bill returned having found nothing. "Where's Ginny?" he asked, alarmed. 

                "It was too cold for her. She went inside," Harry lied and stood to follow after her, mentally berating himself for having been overly harsh with her. She was going through something that he didn't understand, but that was no reason to speak to her as if she had done something wrong. 

                He looked behind him and watched as Bill joined Fred and Charlie on the other side of the wood. Then he turned to the house to find Ginny. 

                He had found her on the roof of all places. There was one thing that he could never understand about Ginny and that was her fear of heights. But she sat nervously on the edge watching the parties of people below searching for the two lost children, unaware that there was another person missing and none of them were lost in those woods, but were lifetimes away from this place. 

                "Don't look down, that's the biggest part of the fear. You just have to believe you won't fall," Harry said from behind. 

                Ginny smiled and wiped a tear from her cheek. 

                "And know that there will always be someone there to catch you," Harry added. He came and sat next to her. 

                "I'm afraid," she admitted, not taking her eyes off of the movement below. 

                "You don't have to go after them. Just tell me where they've gone. I promise I won't make you come with me," Harry urged. 

                Ginny looked up at him, disappointment written on her face. "I would go with you, Harry. I'm not afraid for myself. I've seen…" she trailed off. Giving words to her fears, her visions, would make them real. She hesitated. 

                Harry took her hands in his. They were ice cold and shaking. 

                "They aren't even in this time. They are in another time."

                Whatever Harry had been expecting, it wasn't this. He blinked and asked her to repeat. 

                She smiled and proceeded patiently, "A Time-Turner has the capabilities, when altered, to take you back to the distant past—as far as you wish to go. This is, of course, not exactly legal." Harry seemed confused so she slowed it down a notch. "You have to think of time as a destination. Just as London is a destination, so is the year 1352."

                "So you're saying both Lucy and Gabriel took the midnight train to 1352?" Harry asked incredulously.

                "Imogen, or Lucy and I have done it a lot. We've visited Azria and Mungo…and uncovered a plot of Lucius Malfoy's that has something to do with…actually I don't know what, but he and Eowyn Slytherin were up to something. Lucy found out that it had something to do with children, and Gabriel specifically."

                Harry's eyes widened. "Oh God. That doesn't sound good at all."

                Ginny shook her head in agreement. "I need to get back there and warn Azria, Galahad, Isaiah and Mungo. I'm not sure what state we'll find things in back there. I'm not ruling out dangerous or mortal peril." She looked at Harry tentatively. "I'm not asking you to go, but I have to. They are my friends and they need me."

                "Then I'll go with you," Harry said, giving her hands a squeeze. "I wouldn't let you do this alone."

                Ginny smiled again, brightly this time. Her heart seemed to tremble less. 

                "I need to change and so will you. Can we get out of here without being found out?" Ginny asked. 

                "Yes, I need to stop at home to pick up—," Harry began. 

                Ginny stood up and finished for him, "Your sword, yes." She made to crawl down the drainpipe and into her bedroom window. "Meet me outside the garden in five and we can swing by your place before leaving 1997 entirely."

                "Don't say that…it sounds terrifying," Harry said, trying to smile. Ginny could tell he was nervous, but hiding it for her sake. 

***

                "Miss Spencer?" Professor Snape asked perplexed to see her standing on the other end of the door to his office. 

He was the only teacher on the grounds, Imogen found, as luck would have it. 

Professor Snape eyed her warily. She was wearing a black cloak that was torn at the shoulder, covering some sort of period clothing. Snape decided not to ask about that. He didn't much care for her fashion sense, but that was her affair, as it was. 

"I must say you look like you've recovered quickly. How may I help you?" he asked officially. 

"I can't find Sirius and I thought you might be able to help me," Imogen said in a doubtful voice. 

"I am not Mr. Black's keeper. I wish I could help you. Is there some sort of trouble?" 

Imogen drew a sharp breath. She had debated on the short trip from Hogsmeade to the castle over whether she should tell Snape. Finally she decided that it was necessary. "Jill Parry's son was taken at the Weasleys' tonight and I know who's taken him," she said, holding her breath as he stared at her with his black and calculating eyes. 

"Black and Mrs. Parry did come by this way, but left immediately with the Headmaster. This business about her son, why didn't you say anything about it before they left, why are you telling me?" Snape asked, not unkindly. 

"It was my father. I know he took Gabriel. I knew for sometime. I just…I don't know…" Imogen faltered. 

"You just didn't want to betray your father?" Snape offered. 

Imogen nodded regretfully. "I know I should have—"

"No, Miss Malfoy. You did what you had to do. It wasn't wrong. Do you know where he might have taken the child?" Snape asked evenly, something like pity or understanding flashed across his face briefly when she met his eyes. 

Imogen stood up and backed away. "I just wanted to tell someone, to be accountable. I don't want help. I have to fix this mess on my own. I just wanted to let someone know that I knew all along. I'll fix this—" she said with a nervous step toward the door. 

Snape's attention was divided for a moment when Mae Lupin appeared in his fireplace. "Do you have a moment?" she said in a kindly voice. "In all of this distress, I haven't been able to calm Arabella down. She's been asking for you."

Snape eyed Imogen and told her not to move and then turned back to Mae. "I'll be right over." As he said this, he heard the door to his office shut. Imogen had gone. 

"Willful girl!" Snape raged as Mae disappeared from the fireplace. He grabbed his cloak and followed after the little Slytherin with a set expression of displeasure. He briefly thought about stopping to tell Mae he'd be a little late, but decided against it. 

He fought the urge to curse as he caught sight of the raven-haired figure of Imogen as she disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. He followed, but lost her completely soon afterward. 

***

                Draco returned to his grandmother's house with a sense of growing unease. 

                He knew the cause for his unease as the music of a piano—his piano, wafted through the warm currents of the house. His father was there. 

                Walking into the room, he stared at his father's back as his fingers roved over Draco's beloved keys with an almost mechanical grace. There was no feeling in his playing. 

                He finally spoke. "What are you doing here? Come to bargain with my sister's body? Meet me for the New Year and we can dig up mum together…you know, as a family," Draco said, barbed sarcasm spilling from his lips. 

                His father stopped his playing and turned to Draco, his sympathetic expression made Draco want to throw it back in his face. 

                "I'm sorry that you had to see that, Draco," Lucius said. 

                "I'm sorry you had to do it. That wasn't what I asked you. What are you doing here?" 

                "I came to tell you that you have been deceived. That was not you sister buried there. That's not who you've been grieving for and visiting and tormenting yourself over. It was Elena Vassikin who was buried there, next to your mother, under Lucilla's headstone," Lucius said, thinly veiled amusement on his face. 

                If Draco was expecting an answer that had stung that much, he wasn't prepared for anything like this. He couldn't have foreseen that answer. He struggled to remain standing, but eventually had to sit. "What have you done with her?" 

                "The question, Draco, is what has she done to you? I always warned you that she would be your undoing, she and that Weasley. But you need not worry about Virginia. We have come to an understanding." Lucius was being cryptic on purpose. Draco was impatient for him to make sense or get the hell out. 

                "Start making some sense or leave, father. This is my house and I think I would be justified in kicking you to the curb," Draco said calmly. 

                "What was the one thing that you said I couldn't give to you? You would be deaf to my proposals unless there were one thing above all others that I could restore to you?" Lucius riddled patiently. 

                "Lucy…is this some sort of a joke?" Draco narrowed his eyes, tying to anticipate the way in which his father was trying to hurt him this time. 

                "Lucilla is alive. Do not underestimate your old man. Take this as proof of my love and devotion to you, Draco. You asked and you shall receive," Lucius said. 

                "Necromancy is illegal, and I must say, very disturbing and if I find out you have raised Lucy from the dead I will kill you. I swear to God I will." Draco was on his feet standing over his father, holding his stare with a fiery fury he hadn't realized that he possessed anymore. He meant every syllable he had spoken. 

                Lucius, for his part, laughed at his son and his adamant behavior. "I said that she had never occupied that grave. She's never occupied any grave, Draco. She never died. I have not raised her from the dead. I told you that I never killed her to begin with."

                Draco was stunned. He didn't know if he wanted this to be true or not. Would having Lucy alive again be enough for him to supplicate himself to his father? A second later he had thought that it was the dearest wish of his heart. He would give up his free will to have her, give up his very life just to see her again. 

                "I want proof," Draco said. 

                "Proof you shall have. Come with me," Lucius answered derisively. 

                Draco gave a moment's pause and was sufficiently satisfied with his father's sincerity. It didn't come along often. It was unmistakable when it came out of hibernation, his sincerity. 

***

                Ginny stood with her cloak wrapped tightly around her. Harry waited at the gate for her as they had planned. 

                "You all set then?" Harry asked. 

                Ginny didn't answer because Ron and Hermione had come from around the corner of the house where they had set off in search of the two missing children. 

                Harry felt Ginny tense next to him and she gripped his arm painfully as they watched Fred, George, Charlie and Bill come in from the opposite side of the house. Bill was carrying something, someone, a little girl. She wasn't moving. 

                The two of them watched on as Bill went in past them with the small, dead form of Gabriel's companion, the flower girl. There was no blood on her, but the blue pallor of her skin left no question that she was not alive. 

                "Her hair, she was blue, she looked like Lucy. Oh…I'm going to—," Ginny began. She couldn't finish her thought but half collapsed into Harry who was caught off guard himself, nearly stumbled with her extra weight. 

                "Where did you find her?" Hermione asked as she and Ron followed the dead girl and the other searchers inside. There followed a scream from inside that could only have been the girl's mother. 

                Ginny let out a small sob as she heard the mother's anguished howl. 

                Harry held her to him and whispered near her hair, "Ginny, we should go. There's nothing we can do for her."

                Ginny nodded and let herself be led away. 

                She was still silent and tearful when they left Harry's house in Belfast. She had transfigured his clothes to match hers in time period and style. Pinned to his cloak was the fibula that Faramir had worn so many times when Ginny had seen him. She wondered faintly if she would be able to tell them apart, but brushed the thought away. It was silly. Harry had a way of looking at her that suggested familiarity, adoration, love. She had been through the worst with him and would go into much more—and he with her. 

                Sliding the sword of Gryffindor into its sheath, Harry buckled it under his cloak and looked up, shaking his snow-dusted hair out of his eyes and caught Ginny's look. 

                "What's wrong?" he asked. 

                "Thanks for coming with me," she said. 

                "I wouldn't let you go alone," Harry answered. 

                "I know. I owe you thanks for a lot more though," she admitted. 

                Harry smiled and smoothed out his cloak. Taking her hand he Apparated them to Hogsmeade without another sentiment. 

                It was pitch black. The moon was thin and pale and shone only in the faintest sliver, giving no light to the travelers.    

                They cut off of the path well before they came into sight of the school. Into the woods they plunged deeper, Harry trusting Ginny to guide him, unfamiliar as he was with the forest. He had been in here on two occasions, both unpleasant. 

                With Ginny in front, leading, Harry stumbled only slightly. They relied on each other, picked the other one up, held branches out of the way for the other, in every respect worked as a team. It would be the last time. Their paths unknowingly split in the nearest future. Not even Ginny, the seer, had foreseen it. 

                As if they had sensed it unconsciously, Harry and Ginny tightened their grasp on the other's hand, clinging together in the dark, while they had the opportunity to. 

                "Here," Ginny said finally. They had some to a low stone wall, the remainder of a wall, really. Harry recognized this place. He had been here in his first year. He had seen the unicorn with life ebbing away in a small stream of mercury from its neck. He had thought that it was a tree he had stumbled over as the pain in his scar had driven him backward and bodily to the ground. He now knew that he had stumbled over the wall of a ruin that he had never known was there. 

                She held him back a moment later when he inched closer to where the bailey and the castle keep would have been themselves. There was someone there. A tall, cloaked figure lurked at the edges of their vision. Someone was paroling the ruin, lost or looking for something. 

                Ginny made a sign to Harry that they would have to use the Time-Turner here to avoid being seen. "We'll end up just outside of the wall. But that should be no problem. It's night there as well. So no one will be able to see us either way."

                Harry nodded and let Ginny slip the chain of the hourglass around his neck and breathed in sharply as Ginny turned the charm, the forest fading from behind them only to be replaced by the wall, built up and an open field sloping down to the west, to a river. 

                There was a mill on fire. Yelling, shouting, people running and confusion. 

***

                "She has been playing you for a fool the entire time. You might know her better under one of her many assumed names, Imogen Spencer. Does that name ring a bell?" Lucius had put on his best, it's-for-your-own-good-that-you-know-this voice. 

                Draco felt every word acutely, yet it was not his father that he was angry with. How had he not known that Imogen Spencer, shy and quiet Slytherin with the temper of a dove and yet of a viper when provoked, was his sister. She had seen him mourn the loss of Lucy and had sat there and thrown sympathy at him. He couldn't imagine what sort of ends she thought would come of this. It felt like nothing but betrayal and cruelty to him—things he had thought to be beyond Lucy's nature.                 

                "I can't be certain that you would find this a kindness, Draco. You nearly worshipped that girl. No doubt you harbored adoration of her angelic qualities, adoration that is unfounded now that you know the true and plainly deceitful nature of the child. I tried to keep you from her, from the hurt I knew she would cause you. I'm sorry that I couldn't." Lucius was pacing in the dark and dank entrance to the chapel at the outskirts of Hogmeade. 

                "I want to see her. I won't believe a word you say until I see her safe, in front of me, for myself," Draco insisted, trying to keep the sting of his father's words from ringing true. 

                "Patience. There are some things that you need to understand, conditions to the bargain that you have made. The first," Lucius said, ticking them off on his fingers. "Your loyalty is required. I will kill her outright if I feel your allegiance sway in the least."

                Draco eyed him coldly and nodded. 

                "Secondly, this ridiculous relationship with Arthur Weasley's daughter will end immediately."

                Draco knew this was coming. He had expected his father to want him severed from Ginny for a long time now. He had already done that. He had left her and anything that he had hoped might come about was crushed under the weight of his leaving. Still he had never wanted to be in the position to chose Lucy over Ginny or vice versa. "It was ended a long time ago," he answered dully. 

                "Liar. I had a lovely little chat with Virginia yesterday. Although she assures me that your relationship has ended, it was by no means ended "a long time ago" as you put it."

                Draco spun around at this. "When did you speak to her?" his eyes narrowed dangerously. 

                "This is precisely what I mean. This fervent sentiment must stop. You should not care when or where it is that I spoke with her. She means nothing to you, remember?" Lucius countered. 

                "After I left her. You came looking for me at grandmother's house on the coast?" Draco stated. 

                "Yes. I have to admit that I do see the attraction of her. Beautiful and engaging, we had quite and interlude. Why, if I were your age—," he sneered. 

                "For the love of all things scared, do not finish that sentence! I won't see her again…on the condition that you leave her alone as well. This part of the contract is void if you go near her," Draco said adamantly. 

                "Agreed. Now that you know my plans, are you agreed in supporting my alliance with Eowyn Slytherin? We will need your help especially." Lucius stopped his pacing for a moment to smile as he glanced out the window. 

                "Agreed, although I will hold firm to my belief that you are a raving mad lunatic and deserve to be hospitalized for your own good," Draco opined. 

                "It is heartwarming that you have my welfare in mind. And do please note that if you question my sanity again I will snap your neck, that of your sister and Ginny Weasley and have nothing more to do with any of you." Lucius leveled a cold glare at him, daring him to challenge his stability of mind once more. 

                The door opened. But even if it hadn't, Draco wouldn't have challenged his father again. He was no coward but he was also no idiot and he knew when there was a fight he could not win. 

                Imogen stepped in, soaked in snow. The bottom two inches of her hem was wet with mud. She shook herself, apparently unaware that she was in the company of the two pairs of cold gray eyes that stared at her.

                "Lucilla, I am pleased that you could join us," Lucius smiled. 

                Imogen, or Lucy, looked up quickly and stared at her father, reluctantly meeting the gaze of her brother in no doubt that her father had filled him in on her past six months of activity…none of which included being dead. 

                "Follow me, the both of you," Lucius said, not allowing for the introductions that wouldn't have followed anyway as neither if them had anything to say to the other at the moment. 

***

                Draco showed no sign of surprise when they stepped out of the bailey and into a castle that did not exist in his own time. He glanced to Lucy briefly and then to his father, both of whom, seemed very at ease and familiar with this route and its end. He could see over the outer walls, as they climbed stairs on the outer edge of the ancient keep—unmistakably, Hogwarts. He briefly estimated that this castle must be situated deep within the present day Forbidden Forest. But there was a river, he knew there must have been at one time. In _Hogwarts: A History there was made a mention of an iron-working mill. It had to have been powered by a river, now a lake, nearly gone, like the ruin of the fortress he now stood in. _

                He caught the sapphire glint of Imogen's eyes as she glanced up at him momentarily. Lucy, he reminded himself, not Imogen. She placed a tentative hand to his arm. He would have liked to think that it seemed cold and unfamiliar to him, but it wasn't. Lucy hadn't changed as much as their father would have liked him to believe. He pulled his arm away, regardless. He wasn't ready to deal with this yet. And he wouldn't have thought that a false sense of forgiveness would be appreciated by Lucy anyway. 

                She opened her mouth to say something but decided against it in the next moment. He was glad for her caution. He had very little patience left. Losing his temper would only have encouraged his father. It was important that he realized, however displeased Draco was with Lucy in this moment, he would be lost to his father the moment that he mistreated her. And Lucius seemed almost hungry to make her suffer…or both of them. 

                They came to a dark oak door where Draco could see a light under it. There were two stony-faced guards in the surcoat of Slytherin at the door. Draco was unmoved to notice that his father had weight with these thugs. They moved aside to permit him and the others. 

                The woman that greeted them in hushed tones was unexpectedly pleasant and beautiful, like a tiger behind glass. He knew that a step too close would have him in her merciless jaws. There was an air of malcontent and deceit that wafted on the cool breeze of the room, like the faintest of expensive perfumes. She leveled a gaze at him that suggested that the sight of him amused her. Draco paid as little attention to her as possible, but was careful to take in every detail. 

                The reason for her hushed tones was clear as Draco entered fully into the room behind Lucy. There was a small boy asleep on the bed that took up half of the small tower chamber. He held a strange familiarity for Draco and he stared at the child, trying to place his face. It couldn't have been this woman's son—the idea of Eowyn Slytherin procreating was as ludicrous as the idea of Snape having a child. The weirdest mental picture came into Draco's mind that he immediately banished. 

                Lucy seemed to know the child immediately and made to cross the room and wake him, she was stopped immediately and forcefully by Lucius. His steel grip loosened as Eowyn glided over to him from the bed and begged a word with him on the roof. She glanced briefly at Draco and smiled. The two left the room and its three occupants. Lucius had promised that escape was beyond them and that it would be useless for Lucy to waste the effort of trying to wake the boy, who was under the influence of a very strong sedative potion. 

                With the shutting and bolting of the door and a word to the guards outside, they were left alone, Lucy with her head in one hand as if the room were spinning, Draco staring at her with cold and expressionless eyes and Gabriel asleep on the bed, seemingly peaceful. 

                "Draco, say something," Lucy said finally, looking at him urgently through Imogen's eyes. 

                Draco was at an honest to goodness loss for words, something he had never experienced before in his life. "Welcome back," he said in flat sarcasm. 

                Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, as if willing herself not to reply to that, resigned to the fact that forgiveness would not come easily to her this time as it had with Harry and Ginny. She sat down on the bed and gathered Gabriel's unconscious form in her arms and placed a hand to his cheek. 

                "Were you there? Did you see what the rest of us found in that room? The blood, Lucy…you orchestrated all of that…my worst fear had come true and you were the artist of it. What do you want me to say? What I want to know is how you found it necessary to lie to me…why I had to find out about all of it through father?" Draco raged. He swallowed hard. She hadn't seen him this upset since the time that she begged him to give her the news that she would never walk again.   

                Lucy was speechless for another moment. The she undid the clasp of her cloak and spread it over Gabriel, laying his head to rest on her lap. 

                "You couldn't know. Draco, what would you have done in my position?" Lucy said, stopping when her voice had risen to an inappropriate level. 

                "I would tell you what I would do in that situation if I knew what the situation was. You don't even see fit to tell me that much," Draco countered, still aloof and leaning against the opposite wall. 

                "Now you're just being difficult because you're upset. Just listen to me," Lucy said, using her most appeasing voice. 

                Draco made no movement to stop her and made no gesture that he wanted her to continue. She continued anyway. "I killed Elena." Again he showed no surprise or astonishment. "I fought her. I thought I would lose, but I had to try. I couldn't just let her kill me without a fight. After the fact, I realized that I would never make it out alive with her blood on my hands…I couldn't even walk."

                "I would have found you eventually. You didn't have to do that to me," Draco said softly. 

                "Shut up and let me finish," Lucy snapped. "I just switched identities. I was going to leave but that was when you all found Elena, and thought it was me."

                "So, you—as Elena spied on us to see how we would react when faced with your dead body…interesting," Draco said hollowly. 

                Lucy decided to ignore this. It was fair—untrue, but fair. "I knew I had to get rid of the big guy and keep Harry from being bound up. If he was free, I knew that the two of you could handle the rest of them together."

                Draco looked up at her sharply. "You think very highly of Potter, don't you?"

                "Draco, please," she warned and continued. "I know Ginny couldn't do much of anything. I was afraid that she wouldn't make it out at all. But I knew that Harry would get her out and I had to get the wards down."

                "There you go with Potter again. Could you leave Boy Wonder out of this, please?" Draco snapped. 

                "You would have just left her there in the state you were in. Don't pretend that you didn't want to kill her yourself. I wanted to tell you, Draco, honest I did. Do you think I wanted you to suffer?"

                "You want me to answer that honestly?" Draco said. 

                Lucy bit her lip. "Draco, I was found out by a few Aurors. Being that I am under-aged, they let me off lightly. Arabella Figg argued my case and let me stay with her. She kept me out of Azkaban in exchange for some spying. I happen to be good at it and so I agreed. I couldn't tell you, I couldn't let you know. I wanted to, honest I did." 

                "Imogen—tell me about Imogen and why she was at Hogwarts before all of this started. You're hiding something more. I swear to God, Lucy, if you don't start being honest with me I will walk away from this, from you and father and…I don't know…kill myself or become a Hare Krishna, or something drastic."

                "I'm getting there, Draco. Jesus, will you just calm down for two goddamn seconds?" Lucy yelled. Gabriel stirred but did not wake. 

                "Don't use that language with me or around that kid. Besides, I have the right to be angry, don't you think?" Draco argued. 

                Lucy took a deep breath and continued. "It was the easiest choice, really. I was afraid. I knew that if I went to prison, it would be only a matter of time before father found me again and got my murder right for once. I went with Arabella and became a mole for the Ministry subversives.  Minister Grey is in father's pocket, I'll have you know."

                "Why am I not surprised?" Draco said sarcastically. 

                "Yeah, well…I went to work for him. There was a condition that Arabella granted me, the only thing I asked for in return. I wanted to stay at Hogwarts and look after you."

                "Look after me? What did you think I would do? Kill all of the Gryffindors and then turn the wand on myself?" Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked at her with an insulted glint to his gray eyes.

                "I invented Imogen just after you tired to kill yourself the first time. I was worried about you. I couldn't bear to go back to France and to school knowing that you might try something like that again."

                Draco scoffed. " I made a promise that I wouldn't. Does my word carry no more weight than yours now?" 

                Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. "That's not fair."

                "Oh, I think it's more than fair. I believe what you're telling me now…but I can't trust you, not after this. I have never given you a reason to doubt me. And I would have gotten you out of this mess. I wouldn't have let them use you. I'll kill every one of them if we make it out of here alive." Draco was pacing. 

                "Listen to yourself. You're not making sense now. Besides, it was Peter I had to do this for. What kind of person would I be if I told him to turn himself in and then ran when it came my turn to be judged?" Lucy added reasonably. 

                "Peter? Peter who?" Draco asked. 

                "Pettigrew," said Lucy simply. 

                "Peter Pettigrew…what the fuck, Lucy?" Draco's eyes were wide with astonishment. "Is this what you do for fun? You fuck with the minds of Death Eaters, spy on the Minister and fake your own murder?" 

                "Yes, that's not the point though. I had to do this. I hope you see that." She laid Gabriel down gently and moved to stand in front of Draco, placing a hand on either side of his face. He would have looked away, but there were tears in her eyes. 

"Please tell me you understand why I did this. I didn't want to hurt you. That was the last thing I wanted, Draco. I didn't do this because I wanted to see you suffer, though I do admit that I did hurt you, I didn't want to, I didn't intend to. I'm not perfect, but I tried to do the right thing and I'm sorry you hate me for that."

                "I don't hate you. But, Lucy, you've put us both in a position where we don't have very many options. We might not get out of here alive." Draco stared at her. There was no sympathy in his eyes, but deep regret. "Father will kill us both if we aren't completely loyal. Can you be loyal? At least act it?"

                "No," Lucy said, removing her hands. "He doesn't want loyalty from me, just you…it's always been just you. He wants me to die."

                "Then I'll just have to die with you," Draco said, lifting her chin with one hand, he stared ardently into her deep blue eyes that he remembered to be the lightest sky blue. 

                A flicker of a hopeless smile fluttered across her face, reflected by his. 

***

                "And what assurances do we have that these children won't turn on us, Lucius?" Eowyn asked, pulling her corn silk hair into a knot as the wind blew savagely around them. 

                "He would do anything to keep her safe, especially now that he knows what it feels like to lose her," Lucius replied simply. They watched the progress of the preliminary raiding party as it set fire to the mill and disposed of its residents and workers, most of whom floated down the river with the chunks of ice dispersed from the underside of the bridge, now ablaze in the glorious chaos below. 

                Pity, most of the peasant filth that worked the fields had fled, recognizing war on the horizon. They were not likely to stick around unless there was something at stake. 

                His cold gray gaze rose to the dominating castle beyond. They were to siege it at dawn and its inhabitants were to be slaughtered. Lucius dreamt of ending the Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors and Ravenclaws in one clean sweep. Oh how easy it would be! He was impatient for some bloodshed. 

                "You make it sound as if her survival was all part of your plan. It is, perhaps, fortunate that I see through to your true nature or I would be fooled, like your son, by your play-acting God. You don't dazzle me, Lucius Malfoy. Is my army far off?" Eowyn said with an unimpressed air. 

                "Just over the ridge. They are only a few hours off. They will be here by daybreak."

                "It is a pity that they were not here before my enemies removed themselves to that fortress. It is indestructible. There is but one weakness, a passage. But what I would do to know its entrance. I would murder them all in their sleep. Isaiah first of all—but I would wake him with a kiss first so that he would know that it was I who was his downfall. I swore to him that I always would be. And Mungo—I would laugh as I plunged a dagger into his all too generous heart. He sickens me, they all do."

Lucius watched with growing admiration as she enumerated the ways she would delight in the deaths of her enemies. 

                "Tomorrow will be soon enough." 

                "Ride out with your son tonight. Speed them along. I will look after the girl and the child. You can give your son my assurances that no harm will come to them while in my care…so long as he does not endanger them with silly heroic gestures and bravery. He was built for more glorious things than chivalry and bravery, I could tell when I looked on him." Eowyn waved a hand and Lucius nodded, leaving the lady to watch the ongoing destruction of the Hufflepuff lands and structures. 

                When Lucius had returned to the room where his children had been locked with the child he had stolen for his later ambitions, he was dressed in the surcoat of Slytherin, in everyway similar to the dress of the guards outside except that the emblems of silver on green marked him for commanding. He looked in every way at ease in these foreign garments. 

                It appeared as if his son and daughter had made their amends. How tedious, he thought as he eyed them from the entrance. 

                "Come with me, Draco," Lucius said with impatience. 

                Lucy and Draco exchanged a look that their father couldn't interpret. He cursed their mother and thought that it would have done well to kill her sooner, before her sentiments could have taken root in his son. Sentiment breeds weakness. He would see that this lesson took root in his son, a root that killed all good intention and honest feeling, except the honest feelings of hate and anger—they alone were useful. 

                "Lucilla, you will remain here with the child. The Lady Slytherin will be in momentarily." He turned to Draco and continued, "You have her word and mine that your sister will come to no harm. The child will be safe as well. You will come with me, but first you will change." 

                Draco said nothing, but followed his father from the room, not trusting himself to look back. He thought he could feel the tangible reality that he would never see his sister again, now that he had found her again after all of this time. 

***

                "Shit!" Harry muttered surprising Ginny briefly before she turned to see what had made him swear. He was clutching at his right arm, just below the shoulder. 

                Arrows came whining down around them. 

                Ginny chanced a look up at the wall and saw the glinting of armor and the silver and green of Slytherin archers, aiming down at them. 

                "Shit. This one must have been taken by Eowyn's troops already," Ginny said. "We're at the wrong castle."

                "Great," Harry said sarcastically. 

                They moved quickly along the wall, the shadow and the little light that was offered by the moon were their allies and they had soon moved out of range and sight of the arches, down to the sloping shore of the river. Upstream quite a way the mill was blazing hot and providing most of the light that they were navigating by.

                Ducking behind a thicket of reeds as a marauding band ran past and up the path toward the mill, Harry put his hand to his sword and turned to Ginny. "How are we going to get in there?" 

                "We're not. We have to get to Mungo and Azria and the others. Isaiah must have an army around here. We would be safe if we could get to them." Ginny was breathing hard and Harry was anxious to move down stream and away from the light of the fiery mill. It all seemed to be working toward their capture. 

                "But wouldn't Lucy and Gabriel be inside the fortress with all of the Slytherin guards on the top shooting at us?" Harry asked sarcastically. 

                "Yes. Try if you would like to get in there, Harry. But I have to find a way to cross to the other side and get into Hogwarts. Azria is there and that's where I need to go, understand?" Ginny was firm on this point. Harry conceded reluctantly, looking around. 

                A moment later he had decided. "We'll have to cross the river here. It's the narrowest place I can see, and we're not getting across by that bridge," he said, pointing to the place where one of the wheels had broken off in a hiss of fire and water and half-sank as the current swept it past them. 

                Another moment and the way was clear for them to struggle across with little outside notice. More than once, Harry had to reach out and pull Ginny toward him as she struggled in the current. She found it hard to keep her feet under her and her teeth were chattering. Both were in a strong current and water up to their shoulders. 

                They reached the shore quite a way down stream from where they had begun. 

                A small avenue of trees and a steep slope would see them to the fortress that would one day be Hogwarts school. 

                Chattering teeth and wracked with cramps, Ginny pulled herself up onto the bank next to Harry and stood tentatively on wobbly legs. Harry stood next to her and at a look from her, both started off toward the cover of the avenue. 

                Her feet had no more feeling than a tingling phantom limb and her breath was becoming labored but Ginny shuffled on behind Harry without a word. 

                Harry could see the individual outlines of the trunks that would provide them with cover. He longed for that protection as they were utterly exposed out here on the open plain—and easy target for either side. He was cut from his estimations with a startled cry from Ginny. 

                He wheeled around with a hand on the hilt of the sword and found Ginny sprawled over a body. There were bodies next to her, under her, all around her. Harry could make out some forms that were still moving at a distance from them. He reached down with an outstretched hand to help her to her feet. His hand was seized by another of the bodies, half-dead and completely dead that made up this field of dead—a killing field. It was evident that a skirmish had taken place here not long ago. Some were still howling for water as they died. The man who gripped his arm begged for water now. 

                When his explanation to the dying man that he did not have any water didn't appease him, Harry tried to tug his arm free. Even in the throes of death, this warrior was strong. 

                He watched in horror as the man Ginny had fallen over, a Slytherin guard by his surcoat, seized her and pulled her under him, large hands wound around her neck. Ginny, in her surprise, cried out and tried to kick with her feet that he had pinned down efficiently enough with her left arm between his knees. Her free hand scratched and tore at his face and he hardly seemed to notice. 

                She was turning pale and blue even by the faint moonlight and her movements were becoming lethargic as her air slowly ran out under the guard whose words Harry could not understand. His meaning had remained clear, though. He would kill Ginny and this man who had a steel grip on Harry's arm and pulling him down and down would kill him. 

                Clumsily with his left hand, Harry reached his sword and swung down, cutting the man's arm free from its body. He didn't even make a sound as Harry's blade severed his arm completely. He spat and cursed moments later and then continued to die. 

                Harry rushed the man who had Ginny pinned to the ground. He spun and brought the sword down on the man in a fury. 

                Ginny coughed and massaged her neck as Harry rolled the enormous guard off of her. Her face was spattered with arterial spray and she wore the most shocked of expressions, but under that Harry could see that her color was slowly washing back into her cheeks. 

                She said nothing, but closed her eyes and expelled a ragged breath that Harry knew was all the thank you that she could muster at the moment. 

                With his sword at the ready, Harry waited for Ginny to catch her breath and clear her head. When she looked up and asked, "How did you know how to use that sword, Harry?" he didn't answer but grabbed her arm and ran full out for the avenue of trees and away from the field littered with carnage and dead. 


	19. Born Blind

Disclaimer: The characters and situations of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling. I also must confess that a lot of my knowledge of the Middle-Ages is largely due to Michael Chrichton's _Timeline. Balthamos is from Philip Pullamn's _The Amber Spyglass. _Sir Guy is Sir Guy de Malegant from __Timeline. I draw on universe concepts from both Philip Pullman's _His Dark Materials _trilogy as well as Michael Crichton's __Timeline. _

Author's Note: This chapter is dedicated to Sara, who honestly edits every chapter of this story and every other one that I have and will produce. This story would be here for no one else to read if she had not first encouraged me to write it and gratuitously praised it along the way. She is the biggest fan of Galahad and of painful little conflicts—all of which find a home in this chapter. Enjoy and review if you do. 

Thank You's: There aren't many this week, but I totally understand that. This is coming up on the end of the series right around exam time. I know my loyal readers will pick this up again at their convenience. 

Lady Brannon: I have never had anyone thanking me for writing what I would have written anyway…even if I were flamed. Thank _you_ for taking the time to go through the entire story thus far. I hope you will stick it out…happy ending, sad, or a mix of both. I hope you're not averse to a mix (leaning more toward tragic?). 

Oliverwoodsgirl: As always you are cool. I don't quite know how to answer your question about Gabriel and the army…I know that everyone hates hearing this, but just read and find out…it's all pretty simple after this, no tricks. Thanks for your reviews. They are a constant in my writing and I look forward to them all. 

Chapter Nineteen

Born Blind

"_Someday they'll find your small town world_

_On a big town avenue_

_Gonna__ make you like the way they talk_

_When they're talking to you_

_Gonna__ make you break out of your shell_

_'Cause they tell you to_

_Gonna__ make you like the way they lie_

_Better than the truth_

_They'll tell you everything you wanted someone else to say_

_They're gonna break your heart_

_Yeah, from what I've seen, you're just one more hand-me-down_

_'Cause no one's tried to give you what you need_

_So lay all your troubles down_

_I am with you now_

_Somebody ought to take you in_

_Try to make you love again_

_Try to make you like the way they feel_

_When they're under your skin_

_Never once did you think they'd lie_

_When they're holding you_

_You'll wonder why they never call _

_When they said they'd call you_

_You'll start to wonder if you're ever going to make it by_

_You'll start to think you were born blind…"_

_Matchbox Twenty: 'Hand-me-down'_

              Ron felt Hermione's hand tighten around his own as the small flower girl was brought inside. 

              "Cora! Oh God, it's my Cora!" he heard the mother of the child wail. Hermione had let out a small sob as she watched the hysterical parents. Anni sat in wide-eyed shock. Mum was shaking and everyone else was reverently silent. There was a tangible fear for the missing boy as his dead companion was laid half on the table and half in her mother's arms. Bill slowly backed away as he handed the child over to her frantic and sorrowful parents. 

              "Has Sirius and Jill found anything? What about father?" he asked urgently. 

              Mum had just shaken her head, not taking her eyes from the blue lips and closed eyes, head crowned with curls and heather. "Are you sure you checked everywhere for the boy, for Gabriel?" she asked to anyone who would answer. 

              "There was no one else there, mum. We checked," came Fred's voice from beside Ron. 

              A look from mum had told them all that they should continue looking for the boy, if for no other reason than to give the poor girl and her parents a moment alone. Goodbye was all that was left for them to say. What had been a day of perfect celebration had turned into a profound tragedy. And even though no one could guess the others' thoughts, everyone was in a succinct prayer that the boy would be found and the hours before midnight would not sink into further tragedy. 

              Mr. and Mrs. Bennett, hearing the voices, the cries from his sister over her child, had appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, soon shooed away by Anni and Molly. Enraged conversation wafted over the threshold and into the already full air of the kitchen, charging it with more tensions than it could hold. It nearly pushed the others outside with the force of it. 

              Everyone had been commissioned to continue the search. They boy had to be found. He may be the only one who could offer an explanation about the girl. 

              Charlie led Ron, Hermione, Fred and George through the back garden fence and into the deepening snowy expanse. There was little chance that the boy could survive the night if her were not found. Ron realized this with an unconscious tug of his cloak around him. He turned and watched Bill detach from the group and head back to the house just as they had all grouped outside. He would have to maintain control of the worsening situation inside, as there was a small girl dead and no explanation for the grieved parents. Anni and Molly would not be able to handle the situation alone. 

              Something else more urgent and cryptic pulled at Ron's mind at the same moment. It was the same something that pulled at Hermione's mind. He could tell that they had been connected by the unified fear because her trudging footfalls were silenced the moment that his were. They both glanced back at the garden gate and then at each other. Twin looks of terror had written the same conclusions on their features, a coincidence that frightened Ron more than anything. 

              "Where's Ginny?" Hermione said in a whisper of frosted breath. 

              "And Harry and Imogen?" Ron said in reply. 

              Hermione took a moment to think about this. Slowly she answered as the others reached the forest, well out of earshot. "We saw Harry and Ginny as Bill brought the girl in. Imogen wasn't with them—do we call her Imogen still or is it Lucy?" Hermione wondered. 

              "Call her traitor. I know she's behind this. Do you think Harry went to stop her?" Ron said, blowing on his hands. 

              Hermione leveled an impatiently perturbed glance on him before continuing. "I highly doubt that Lucy is behind Gabriel's disappearance at all. And I'm shocked that you'd think so. You seemed to respect Lucy before…" she struggled for the right phrase. "Before all of this."

              "Before she faked her own death and lied," Ron corrected. 

              "She must have had reason. Her life hasn't exactly been a simple one by the looks of it, Ron. I don't think she really had a choice." She took a deep breath that stung her throat and lips in the frigid air. "So Lucy is gone, Ginny is gone and Harry is gone. One of the three has to know what's going on, where Gabriel has gone. I'm putting my money on Ginny. She is a seer after all. The simple explanation could be that Ginny knows and the other two are helping her find him."

              "The dead girl. Explain the dead girl. How does our finding her frozen at the edge of the forest fit into the simple explanation?" Ron said folding his arms over his chest in an effort to warm them.

              "She's the guarantee that there is no simple explanation. I'm thinking that there's a lot more to the story. Was she in the way? If so, who killed her and why wouldn't they kill Gabriel as well?" Hermione thought aloud. 

              "The girl was a Muggle. Who says she was killed in the first place?" Ron paused, looking at Hermione sideways. 

              "Ginny makes me think that. I don't think she sees things like little children wandering harmlessly off into the forest. She saw something linked to dark activity and that's why she's gone. Plus, there is a mark on the little girl's neck. I saw it when Bill laid her down. Her head fell back and there was a small mark, like a cigarette burn but only smaller, on her neck. It was a magical burn, a wand at close range. Now what do you suppose killed that little girl?" Hermione asked, warily checking Ron's expression. 

              He blinked. "The Killing Curse. Who would want to murder a little girl at a wedding?" he asked, horrified. 

              "Someone who wanted the little boy that she was chasing into the forest. That girl was simply in the wrong place." Hermione plunged her hands into her cloak pockets and allowed herself one small shuddering shiver. 

              "I have to find them. They can't do this alone." Ron started for the door. 

              "No, Ron. You can't," Hermione called after him, stopping him in his snowy tracks.  

***

             "Let me see your neck," Harry said, teeth chattering, as they made it to the first line of trees. They had stopped when he noticed Ginny was having a time of keeping up. She was having a fair bit of trouble breathing. But they had both been too dazed and eager to get away from that field of dying soldiers that they ran despite their bodies' protestations. 

              Ginny stopped just behind him. She clenched her teeth as he placed icy fingers on her skin, moving aside the collar of her cloak and her shirt. Her neck showed bruising already. Clear finger marks were growing more livid just under her ears. She met his eyes directly and said, "I'm fine. I'll keep up."

              "I shouldn't have brought you," Harry said under his breath, turning to continue. 

              "I was the one who brought you," Ginny argued, double pacing to keep up with his vigilant strides. 

              He said nothing. But the way Ginny watched his jaw work. she knew he was eager to argue the point. 

              After walking in silence for a few moments longer Harry turned to her and said, "And what do you plan on us doing when we come to the outer wall? Knock?" 

              Ginny sighed and shivered, but was patient. She knew he was anxious and that he was unhappy to be traveling in a direction that took him further from Lucy. She suppressed a mild twinge of jealousy. At that moment she couldn't have even begun to assess what that might have meant; jealousy of Lucy for deserving Harry, Harry's open devotion to her, or knowing that they would walk into their own deaths for the other. It could have been any of these things. But mostly it was that they could be sure of each other's devotion. To be left in wonder…it was Purgatory of a greater magnitude than that which the soul experiences. She came to realize that the love that she was prone to experience was the kind that had the shortest shelf life. 

              "I wanted to get a good look around. If there are any friendly troops around, they would help us. And they would know where Mungo and Azria are, too," she said after a moment's consideration. 

              Again, Harry stared at her as if he wanted to argue a better plan, but stayed silent. They walked on, Harry seething and Ginny in tormented silence. 

              "Do you know exactly what it is you plan to do? How do you think you can help them?" Harry asked. His questions were intermittent with silence and crackling twigs. The terrain was getting steeper and seemed to rush on almost vertical the father they went. The mud was soft under the snow and the purchase that their feet were able to keep was a flimsy one, what little light the moon had offered them was cut out by the canopy of trees closing them in on all sides. 

              Ginny had to suppress the urge to call out to him when he fell silent, just to reassure herself that she wasn't alone. She stayed quiet despite her fear and only spoke when he had asked a question. 

              "It was a dream I had. I know that there was something that Mungo needed to tell me. I went back there to hear what he had to say. But we always seemed to be interrupted just before he was able to come out with it. It happened like that every time. That's what happened when he and Faramir found Lucy with her father—only she wasn't Lucy, but Elena. They thought she was a spy."

              "Wait a minute," Harry said in a harsh but quiet tone. "You knew about Lucy spying on her father? You let them point her out and you didn't—," Ginny would have been shocked to hear Harry finish the accusation that he was making toward her, if she weren't shocked already by his falling and disappearing down the ravine. She heard him call out for a while and then his calls became faint and stopped altogether. 

              She was alone. 

              She thought she might have been alone. The sound of footfalls on the path that she and Harry had been carefully picking out announced only moments later that there was someone else in the forest, someone who may have followed them. And she was by herself. She couldn't see. She couldn't breath. She reached for her wand and prayed. 

***

              Lucy took the small gold chain from around her neck and placed it around Gabriel's feverish head, sliding it down onto the sleeping boy's neck. 

              She took a deep breath. She hoped that she was doing the right thing. It seemed to be the only way. She didn't hesitate. 

              She would have to stay behind. Her brother would not leave her and so she would not leave him. Though, she may very well die for what she was about to do, she didn't think about that. If she could get this child out, she would. 

              The Time-Turner rested in her hands, the chain around Gabriel's neck and she turned it. 

              A small crack appeared on the face of the hourglass-like charm as she turned it. It had broken. 

              _Damn!_

              There must have been wards in place. Her father wouldn't have forgotten that. 

              But now she was stuck. There was no other way out of 1352 for her…or Gabriel. 

              She slipped it off of the boy and examined it closely. It could be repaired, but how would she be able to do that? She didn't have a wand and it would take more delicate magic than she possessed. 

              Footsteps announced visitors and she hurriedly placed the broken Time-Turner around her neck and tucked it down the front of her linen robes as they entered.  

Two guards came through the door followed by Eowyn. She looked at Lucy acidly and then to the boy asleep on her lap. With a nod to the guards, the one on the right lifted the child away from Lucy and cradled him in massive arms. The other one stood beside Lucy as Eowyn commanded her to get up and follow. 

              Lucy did this silently, all of the time taking careful measurement of how far away the guard was from her, how far the one that carried Gabriel was away from Eowyn, how well she thought Eowyn could handle herself. She seemed to carry no wand but trusted in the sheer muscle power of her guards to ensure orders were followed and no one stepped out of line.

              She continued down a corridor lit by torches, descending stairs. They must be at least two levels below ground at the moment. She could only guess that they were headed for a secret way out of the castle. Surely they would not remain in a castle that was little defended. She could not think of another place Eowyn would retreat to. 

              Presently, Eowyn turned to Lucy who looked forward and past her captor, but she listened. 

              "Your father tells me that you are the murderer of his mistresses, an interesting pastime. Tell me," she said with a smile. "Would you try to kill me as well if you knew of our affair?"

              Lucy remained a mask of indifference. "Are you telling me that you are one of his whores?"

              "I don't deny that I admire your father. He is a man like no other," Eowyn elaborated cryptically. "And did you kill his woman, Elena, to spite him?"

              Lucy raised an eyebrow at this. She vaguely wondered what type of response this woman wanted from her. She was on no crusade to keep her father faithful to her dead mother. She would certainly need more reason than that to kill someone. How often, she wondered, had this woman killed? She talked and fantasized about it so openly. 

              "She was in my way. It was necessary," Lucy replied in a monotone. Eyeing the guard next to her, Lucy almost didn't hear the words that Eowyn had spoken next. 

              "And would you kill me if I were in your way?"

              "Perhaps," Lucy replied in the same manner. 

              They traversed the remainder of the underground in silence. 

              There was confusion as they reached the opening at the back of the grounds. They had walked underground for quite a while. Lucy did not realized that they had bypassed a small forest while they were in the dark and silent tunnel. 

              The passage terminated in a modest wooden door to the side of an equally modest building, a wall actually. The remainder of the structure was a mystery to Lucy. Had she ever seen this building before? She looked behind her and could see the flames of the mill hidden by an avenue of trees and the Hufflepuff castle that they had just left, far in the distance. 

              There was the clanging and zing of metal colliding with metal as a raid party met a small force in gold and scarlet quite a way down field. 

              Lucy watched all of this, as did the guards. 

              Eowyn remained focused on the child in the larger guard's arms. She seemed to Lucy overly concerned with the child's safety. 

              It was this moment in which Lucy chose to strike. 

              The guard closest to her was turned to observe the combat for only the briefest of seconds. She felt and heard the gratifying zing as she pulled his sword from its scabbard and past his reach before he had the time to turn and recognize her action fully. 

              In one fluid and focused swing, the hand that he had put out to reach for his sword was severed from his arm and he leapt at her. In his shock and astonishment, not realizing that the small and seemingly helpless girl could handle herself with a sword exceptionally well, he ran on the sword that she held out in front of her. 

              His blinked for a moment and held her gaze. She wondered sickly how many more times she would have to kill tonight. She didn't like the feel of blood on her hands. But better his than her brother's or Gabriel's, she thought. 

              "Take him through," she heard Eowyn order as she pulled the sword from the second guard's sheath. He carried the child through the opened door as a monk came out and offered assistance with the child. So it was the monks that had helped Eowyn and her father to set up their crackpot other universe scheme. She thought that most of that had been super-villain psychobabble. But it was all true.

              "Don't leave that child's side," Eowyn commanded, wielding the blade in both of her determined and skilled hands. The sword looked more at home in her grasp that it did, unwieldy and awkward, in Lucy's. But Lucy had learned and she was up for this fight. 

              The door shut behind them, leaving them on the field with the raiding party and the Gryffindor scouts in a torrent of colors and clangs behind them. 

              Lucy, blocking and dealing blows in turn, thought that she had learned much in the past five minutes outside of this monastery door. The first being that this order of monks was in the pocket of the Slytherin family, secondly Mungo belonged to an order that he was unaware had acted as a front against his family for who knows how long. Gabriel was being held here. There may be people she could trust inside if Eowyn didn't think that the child was safe with the monks alone. The only thing that she didn't know was how to get in and then get out with Gabriel. 

              Lucy ducked agilely as Eowyn exacted another furious blow, just missing its mark. She was fast and expertly trained and Lucy had been in wheelchair for the majority of the past three years. She was tiring fast and Eowyn advanced, driving her backwards, away from the monastery entrance and closer to the fray behind them. 

              She could see on Eowyn's face that, while this would be the quickest way to distract Lucy, she didn't want to risk being seen. She was easily recognizable as the antagonistic Lady of a generations-old family who've terrorized this region for decades. 

              Lucy switched hands, feeling her right hand tighten with cramps. She was only blocking now—and only just that. She had little energy to drive even the most glancing blows at her opponent. She had never fought with such a large sword—never a broadsword at that. 

              She was beginning to despair of distracting Eowyn long enough to strike at her, or move away. But she would not concede the fight. Her opportunity presented itself in the form of a dead soldier. 

              Just behind Eowyn lay the corpse of a soldier fallen in earlier conflict. It was clear to Lucy that Eowyn's arrogance would not allow her to remain fully conscious of her surroundings. She was far more distracted in throwing taunts at Lucy in true tournament fashion. Lucy would do without the show and save her breath. 

              With all of the strength she could summon, Lucy brought the large blade down on the lady, slashing at her with both down and back swings. She put on and extra burst of strength that drove Eowyn back a few more paces and brought her sword down again. This time the swing glanced and tore at her shoulder, surprising Eowyn. One more step and she had tumbled over the dead soldier and lost the grip on the hilt of her weapon. 

              Lucy had both swords in hand as Eowyn raised her wand and trained it on the girl. 

              Eowyn's saving grace and Lucy's downfall came in gold and scarlet surcoats. 

              Gryffindor soldiers that had been driving back the raiding party had seen the women in combat. Behind Lucy two forceful and strong scouts had seized her and disarmed her. 

              Looking back to make sure that Eowyn was apprehended with her, Lucy met a sickening sight…sickening for what consequences it would have on later events, events many years to come. 

              Eowyn had Apparated. It was magic of another time, employed wrongfully in this time. The consequences would be severe. 

              Lucy thought on this, her mind spinning dizzily, as she was bound with her wrists tightly together behind her back. 

              The soldiers spoke like most people in this time, in a language that she didn't understand, Occitan. 

              She was lifted onto a horse in front of a large scout in scarlet and gold, and still she thought that what she had just witnessed would be detrimental to wizarding future. How much had they already changed, she and Ginny, in their many trips back here? How much would she risk and destroy now, on her own? 

              She rode for sometime with the scout on a horse that she was only now beginning to appreciate for its enormity. It was huge. She knew destriers were enormous in the middle ages and that they carried huge men in armor. She was not prepared for riding one. 

              The small and scattered contingent of scouts was well out of the district designated as Hogwarts, the castle, keep and surrounding lands. They stopped at a camp just beneath the large cliff face that extended to the north and surrounded the castle on three sides. The only access that an attacking army would have on the castle itself was from the west and the sloping plain that was cleared of trees: a suicide mission for anyone. 

              She was roughly handed from the horse to another scout in the colors of Gryffindor who flung her bodily to the ground. Forced to her knees in front of a pair of formidable boots, desperately trying to remain upright without the support of her hands, the guard grabbed her hair roughly from the back of her head and forced her neck back. 

              She was looking directly into the stern and questioning eyes of Galahad Ravenclaw.    

***

             "I look like an idiot and so do you," Draco said, surveying the Slytherin surcoat in green and silver as his father handed him a sword. 

              "I give you this only because you may need it where we are going. I needn't remind you that using it against me or others of the Lady Eowyn's soldiers will sentence your sister to death. And you don't look like an idiot, you look like a soldier and it does you well. Besides, the soldiers of Slytherin House are trained to kill all who are not associated with the green and silver of this House. You should be proud to wear it. You were born to it," Lucius lectured. 

              Draco had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes. He finished strapping the rest of his gear on hoping that he wouldn't have to use half of it. 

              He didn't see the point in further arguing with his father and was silent while he followed him out of the castle, past the bailey and to the heavily defended walls. There was a small scouting troop of about five sharp faced and stern soldiers in green and silver outside the gate. One held the reins of two horses. 

              Draco was amazed at the size but said nothing as he hoisted himself to the saddle, thinking the entire time that this horse could eat Emile easily. 

              He heard his father mutter something in Occitan to the nearest scout who replied in the same language. Draco couldn't hear what they had said and if he did it would have taken him twice as long to translate. He was familiar with the dead language but he couldn't speak it and could understand about half of it. His father, of course, had picked it up with ease and spoke it like French or English or Russian; fluently. 

              Lucius paid very little attention to his son, under the assurance that he wouldn't try anything. His sister's life was not something he would jeopardize in so blasé a manner. 

              Past a mill that had been under siege and now stood consumed in flame, and skirting the imposing Hogwarts castle, the scouts road out. They passed a few camps, mostly of Slytherin and others of red and gold and blue and bronze. They were careful to remain at a distance from these. Draco had the feeling that things were going to escalate rapidly before the sun even peeked from behind the Hebrides. There was more of a military presence surrounding the two castles than he had ever witnessed or even read about. He vaguely remembered this battle as described in _Hogwarts: A History. He had a weird sense of suspended reality as he realized that it was nothing like the text and that he would have the opportunity to experience it firsthand. _

             A movement caught his attention and the attention of one of the other scouts to his right. The moon glinted on the armor of bodies on a killing field. The movement terminated in a stand of trees to the Northwest. It could have been peasants pillaging the dead. Draco had turned his attention to the guard who had also caught the movement. Presently he was discussing the movements with Lucius in Occitan. Draco strained to understand them, but had no need of it. His father turned to him seconds later and said, you will go with them," indicating two scouts who had broken from the group already. "Check the woods. Deserters: kill them. Enemy soldiers: kill them as well."

              Draco nodded solemnly and wheeled his horse to follow the two scouts looking behind him he noticed that his father was still motionless, watching him.

              "You'd be surprised at how quickly I could get word to Eowyn to kill Lucilla if you set one foot out of line, Draco. I wouldn't, if I were you," he warned. Turning in the direction that the rest of the scouts were heading, to meet up with Eowyn's army, Lucius rode out of sight. 

              Draco turned and followed the two scouts to the stand of trees. 

              The scout to his left spoke to the other—Draco couldn't grasp the meaning. The one in front that had been spoken to turned to him and gestured: split up and search. 

              Draco dug his heel into the horse's flank and headed right in toward the middle, he'd been certain that the person or people that had traversed the field had come in through this opening in the trees. The two scouts plunged into the forest on either side of him about fifty yards down on each side. 

              As the trees closed in Draco was forced to dismount and proceed on foot. The enormous steed was left tied to a tree near the edge and Draco continued cautiously forward. 

***

              "Are you telling me that you forbid me to go and help my best friend?" Ron wheeled around and leveled an angry glare at Hermione. "Do I have to remind you that he's your friend too? And what about my sister?"

              Hermione remained cool. She nodded and said simply, "Do you not trust Harry with Ginny?" 

              "I don't trust Lucy with either of them," Ron answered acidly. He walked back to where Hermione stood in the snow, apparently ready for a row to end all. 

              "But he trusts Lucy and so does Ginny. That's why they left," Hermione pointed out. 

              "And I would have helped him. I always help him. He knows I would have," Ron argued. 

              "But he didn't want your help, Ron. That's why you and I only found out about this now. He didn't want us involved. I know that you feel left out. But I know Harry didn't mean to make you feel that way. He knew that whatever it was would be dangerous." Hermione placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. Ron shrugged her hand off and backed away. 

              "I would have gone anyway. It's because you didn't want me to go and he knew that. You…you're trying to make me choose. I have to choose between you and Harry?" He looked angrier than she had ever seen him look, hurt also. 

              "No. I never…Ron, I didn't make him do anything. That's unfair," she said, amazed at the accusation. "But, if you want to choose, fine. I already know who it will be." Hermione looked at him for some moments longer. His expression remained set. He would have chosen Harry if he could, she knew it. It hurt but it was reasonable. Harry had tenure…the best friend…she was just the bossy girlfriend…who held him back.

              "I'll see if I can be of any help inside," she said in a hollow tone and left him in the snow to seethe. 

              If she had been expecting him to stop her, or apologize, or at least contradict her, he never did. He was silent and resolute. She went inside. 

              As she entered, Bill pulled her unexpectedly to the side.

Anni's parents and those of the little girl, Molly and Anni had left for the nearest Muggle hospital. 

"You saw what I did, didn't you?" he asked. 

"The close range magical burn?" Hermione asked, elaborating where elaboration wasn't necessary. "Yes, I did."

"Any ideas?" Bill asked. 

"Why would I have any ideas," Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side. 

"Because when strange and unexplainable things happen, you, Ron and Harry all seem to be at the heart of them," Bill said impatiently. "That girl is dead and someone killed her. There is another child out there right now in real danger. Don't play games, Hermione."

"I'm not playing games. It's a little unfair of you to automatically point the finger at us," Hermione said, trying to gain hold of her rage in vain. They were the only two left in the house and therefore she took this as license to be loud. 

"Where is Harry, then. Is it unfair to ask that?" Bill said, matching her pitch. 

"Outside with the others, looking for Gabriel?" Hermione ventured. 

Bill looked at her and then flung the backdoor open. "Ron, get in here. Now!" 

***

Lucy blinked, wondering what Galahad would do, if he would recognize her. 

"Unhand her and step back. I hardly think that she would be a threat to me, especially as she is bound," Galahad said, addressing the guard that held Lucy's hair. 

She felt a blessed release of tension as the guard removed his hand. She blinked and felt dizzy. 

"Forgive me, sire. She has bested the Lady Eowyn. She is more of a threat than she looks," the guard offered. 

Galahad smirked and glanced down at Lucy for the barest of seconds and then turned to his guard again. "The Lady Eowyn?"

"Yeah, my lord. She is a spy of some sort. We are unsure," the guard replied. 

"Pray, where is the lady? Was she not brought in with the girl? Or are you merely in the habit of arresting those that reside on the same side as you, letting the enemy run free?" Galahad said as he removed a small blade from his belt and bent, releasing Lucy's bound wrists. 

"The Lady Eowyn…" the guard hesitated, understandably. "She has vanished, my lord."

"Vanished?" Galahad was free in showing his surprise. He helped Lucy to her feet. 

"Pray, lord. I will explain all," Lucy ventured. The guard looked grateful and was dismissed. 

Leading the way to a tent with a warm fire outside, Galahad turned to Lucy and said, "You look nothing like Maren. The other chosen heirs, as I understand it, resemble their ancestors much more closely."

"I am fair-haired. But this is a disguise," Lucy explained, tugging on her dark-raven hair that was cropped at her chin. 

"You have been the subject of much debate among my sister, Mungo and Faramir. You caused quiet a confusion in showing yourself to be in connection with Eowyn and her mysterious guest," Galahad said, inviting her to sit close to the fire. 

"That is my father. I was spying, yes. But not for him," Lucy replied. 

Galahad smiled. "I understand from Azria that their confusion and quick judgment had caused you a hardship." 

"Yes. Broken bones. I can handle much worse. Think no more on it," Lucy said, shaking her head. 

"You are troubled?" 

"I have a task to perform and I cannot contrive a way to accomplish it," replied Lucy darkly. 

"With the Lady Eowyn? How is it that you came to combat with the lady?" asked Galahad. 

"I was asked to follow my father. I contrived a way of disguising myself as someone that he trusted." She wasn't entirely sure on this point, but for simplicity's sake, that is how she told it to Galahad. "I uncovered a plot of Ewoyn's that my father was involved in. The Hufflepuff chosen heir and I came back a few times prior to this mission, and found that they had been plotting something devastating. 

"He had been taking children from my time and severing their souls. There is enough to make an army. And, indeed, they are here. They are a gift to the lady in exchange for something that my father was eager to be in possession of."

"There is an army of children who are not in possession of their souls? Here?" Galahad asked, disbelieving. "How are they a match for two powerful armies of trained warriors? Indeed, the army of the House of Slytherin is not even a match for Gryffindor and Ravenclaw together."

Lucy took a deep breath. "They have one unconditional master. They are fierce and numerous and will fight to the death."

"But they are children," Galahad said. 

"They _were children. They are powerful killing agents now. There are thousands. I have seen them," Lucy said slowly and as if she had interpreted his next concern she added, "This is not possible with adults. Dementors feed from the experiences of an adult life, one that is not innocent—one that has made mistakes and must live with them. The severing of an adult's soul is more humane but leaves the body useless, emotionless, thoughtless. With a child it is painful—an ever conscious pain, pain that fuels hatred and a lust for blood. My father is an evil man, I know." She looked as if she regretted saying this. She had never openly admitted before what her father was capable of and took some of the guilt that would never touch him onto her own shoulders. _

Galahad seemed alarmed by this but hid it very well. Draco couldn't have done a better job of masking the fear. "Tell me of what Eowyn has agreed to exchange for this army," Galahad said finally. 

"But that is the strangest part of it all," Lucy said. "He has become disillusioned with this world. He disagrees with the everyday encroachment of Muggle life on our society of people."

"Magical and Muggle live separately?" he asked curiously. 

"No, not in every way. There are a lot of people who live in both worlds. Then there are people like my father who hold magical people on a higher standard than those without the ability to perform magic. He wishes to be free of them for good. He wishes to give his son a world free of Muggles. They are too numerous to annihilate from our time. Eowyn has given him another universe. But I don't understand how that universe works. It sounds so perverse and nonsensical."

Galahad thrust a stick into the fire and stirred the embers. He didn't speak for a long time and when he did look up at Lucy there was a deep sense of sadness written in his eyes. 

"Mungo and I shared a deep friendship with a man named Eomer. He was like a brother to both of us. He was in the same order that Mungo belongs to."

"He was a monk?" Lucy asked. 

"Yes. And he was the brother of Eowyn. He was a great student of nature. And of the physical world. He had an idea that Mungo and I had both dismissed as heresy: a universal shift theory. He believed that wherever there was one action and reaction, there could be another, a mirror opposite of that action and reaction. Each held a different set of outcomes and consequences," Galahad explained. 

"The negative power of one." Lucy looked at him expectantly. 

"I am a warrior. I have no head for numbers," Galahad replied simply. 

"There is an infinite possibility of outcomes, of permutations," she explained. 

"Eomer used the word permutation. Yes, I believe you are right. It is the same concept," he continued. "Eomer was a great student of this phenomenon. He was a thinker, a philosopher like Mungo. He was gentle and didn't like conflict. His sister was a thousand degrees his opposite, but they adored each other. It is true. His father took his findings and his ideas."

"You mean Salazar Slytherin?" Lucy asked for clarity. 

"The very one. Eomer was outraged. He railed against his father. His sister was employed to calm him, but with little effect. He denounced his father and his sister. It was then that my mother, Lord Godric and the Lady Helga became involved in the conspiracy, for there was too much dark magic being developed by the two. It was a dangerous time. Eomer was sadly caught in the middle of it all. He was never deceitful like his sister and his father. But his love for them became his downfall. And sadly, neither Mungo nor I could save him, our brother, our friend."

Lucy sat in wide-eyed curiosity. "What happened?"

Galahad continued heavily, "He died. His father used him as a test case. He had been pursuing immortality, heresy all of it. He was bound and used as a human case. His father killed him. Eowyn sought the healing talents of Mungo, but even that could not save him."

Lucy looked as though she wanted to say something, but held back. 

"What is it, child? You may speak freely," Galahad offered. 

"Forgive me if it is a rude question, but why did you not kill Eowyn? It seems as though you had plenty of opportunity."

"Yes, we had that. As Eomer lay dying, his father's experiments having gone disastrously wrong, his one thought was of his sister. He loved her more then life itself and she had a part in taking that life away from him," he continued bitterly. "He made Mungo swear on their friendship and his memory to look after her. He knew his father would be executed soon for his treachery. He did not want Eowyn to be left alone. Mungo has held to that promise at great pains. Isaiah will not speak to him. A lot has come to pass since Eomer's death. Mungo feels very responsible for it, I know," Galahad said. 

"Poor Eomer," Lucy said in a regretful tone. 

"His father pursued his greatest wishes, immortality and opening a universe like the one Eomer theorized. He did both of these. He opened a universe and, although he could not master immortality for himself, he made assurances that his line could remain immortal while he cursed ours and we will end. So there is the universe that Ewoyn speaks of. Now tell me of her vanishing."

***

"Hold out your hands where I can see them and turn slowly," she heard from behind her. The sound of the voice chilled her more than the water she had been submerged in earlier. She didn't move. 

"Turn around, now!" the voice bellowed loudly this time. "My wand is trained on you and I will use it."

Ginny turned, holding out her hands, dropping the wand that she held in her right. 

The look on his face suggested that it was too dark for him to recognize her in the dim moonlight. Her hood was about her head, hiding her telltale red hair as well. 

She set her chin and held her head in high defiance. Her hands raised in front of her she made a slow movement to let down the hood of her soaked cloak and let it fall to her shoulders. 

Draco had not been expecting to find her in the woods. 

He dropped his wand and gaped. 

Ginny stared in firm and calculated composure. No one spoke for a long time. The hoot of an owl and the rustle of the last remaining leaves was all the noise that the night afforded. 

"What are you doing here?" Draco asked, stunned but matching Ginny in resolve. 

"I could ask the same about you, but that looks apparent," Ginny said, nodding at the crest of Slytherin blatantly displayed on his chest. "Is this why you left me? For your father? For this?" 

"Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about," Draco said. 

"I thought you had already made your choice, Draco?" she asked. 

"You and Lucy made that choice for me when you meddled in things that you didn't understand," Draco spat. 

"How so? How can you blame your bad choices on me?" She was unforgivable in her surmising. 

He would be just as unforgivable with his words. "You gave me no choice. He's going to kill her if I don't jump through his hoops. I have you to thank for that."

"Draco, that's bullshit! Stop hiding behind your sister and grow a backbone damn it! You still have a choice. Come with me," Ginny said. 

"God, you are so dim. I said that he will kill her. My father has Lucy right now. All he has to do is say the word and Eowyn will kill her." He plucked at the surcoat in green and silver that covered his chest. "Besides, it looks as if I've already chosen."

"You're giving up then?" she asked. 

"No, I'm being smart. You should too. Go home. You've done enough."

"I'm not going anywhere. I have people relying on me. They need me and I'm not going to abandon them," she said accusingly. 

Draco snorted and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "You've never been let down by anyone, have you?"

"Just myself," Ginny answered. "And you have always been let down by people, haven't you?" 

"Everyone but myself," Draco replied, mocking her. "You're wasting my time," he continued, making to turn away and leave her. 

"Wait!" Ginny called out urgently behind him. 

He turned. "What?"

"There's just something I want to know. One thing. And then you can go your way and I'll go mine. I promise."

"What's that?" he asked, becoming impatient. 

"That night, the last time you left me…did you say anything? I might have been sleeping. I thought—," Ginny began. 

"No. You must have been dreaming. I left and I thought it had been for good. But you keep following me for some reason," Draco answered in more of a barbed tone than he intended. 

"So, that's it then. That's what I wanted to know," she replied, obviously disappointed. 

"And now you know. Goodbye," Draco turned and this time she let him walk away. 

She didn't expect him to make a choice that would result in Lucy's death, especially in exchange for the only thing that she had to offer him: a second hand heart, broken and mended many times, not worth what he would have to give for it. And it was apparent that he didn't want it in the first place. 

"Ginny!" she heard at the back of her mind. It took her several moments more to come back to the present and realize that Harry was calling to her from down in the ravine. 

She picked up her wand and started to pick a path slowly down to the bottom. 

***

"So that's Apparating and…I guess my father showed her how to do it," Lucy said regretfully. 

Galahad looked meditatively into the flames. "I guess I will have to discuss this with Azria. She may know what sort of consequences this will have on the yet to come."

"My lord?" Lucy ventured. 

"Yes?" Galahad answered, leaning back. The firelight caught his deep and reflective dark eyes. Lucy had never taken the time before to really look at him. She had noticed right from the off that he was a good-looking man, but had he always carted all of this sadness around with him? Did he see as well as Azria? Was it a hopeless fight? Had it all been for nothing? 

"I want to save the child—the one that my father took from my world. He is the one that they want—a key, I think the lady referred to him as. He is just a small child, innocent of everything. He does not know what will happen to him. He has a mother that is grieving over him. She wants him back. He is loved."

"I know of the child. There is always a child murdered to follow this universal shift. He is a key. But how could he have come from your world? Are you quite sure?" Galahad was alarmed. 

"Is there something wrong with that?" Lucy asked, puzzled. 

"There is usually a village child taken, one of the tenants' children. It is Eowyn's greatest pleasure in the task. They fear her. A ceremony of whose origins I am sorry that I do not know how to explain to you is performed on the child. They rarely survive this. There are few left in the villages here, she is well known for prizing them. Most live in the forests and further down the river from here."

"Perhaps that is why she employed my father to get her one. But she named the child specifically." Lucy shook her head. It made no sense to either of them. 

"So you want to save the child?" Galahad said. "Do you know where it is that she has taken him?"

"He's being held at the monastery." She stopped and blinked. "Is Mungo aware of Eowyn's dealings with the monastery?"

"It does not seem likely, for this is the first time that I have heard of her dealings with it," Galahad said. "But there is a new Abbot, an Abbot who is a lover of flesh. This news of the Lady Eowyn, though I know I should not speak ill of a lady, is not surprising." Galahad stood. 

"What is the Abbot's name, lord?" Lucy asked. 

"The Abbot Marcus." 

"There is one more thing," Lucy said timidly. She knew that he was busy and that she had given him a lot of news that he was eager to act and reflect on. He was the leader of one of the armies that would be the savior of this land. She didn't wish to detain him for much longer. "My Time-Turner, the means by which I am able to travel from my time to yours, it is broken. Do you have a smith that could mend glass?"

"Delicate hands are needed for glass mending. I know of a child that is skilled in the craft. I will send for her," Galahad announced, easing her worries. 

"By my sword I pledge myself to you and your cause. But I must not desert my army. A battle will begin at dawn. I see the fires of the enemy camps from here," he explained. 

"No, my lord. I would not wish you to abandon your army and your cause for me and mine," Lucy said, her hopes falling. 

"Balthamos! Sir Guy!" Galahad commanded with a loud presence, unlike that which Lucy had experienced from him yet. He exuded the abilities of a natural leader. 

"My lord." Two formidably armored men bowed slightly and stood.  

Lucy didn't look at them directly. 

"Bring this child to the Lady Azria. There is a child among her staff, Claire, who will be of use in mending her trinket. See her safely there. Balthamos, you will remain with her and to whatever service she employs of you." Galahad turned to Lucy. "Is there more that you require?"

"No, my lord. You have done quite more than enough. I thank you," Lucy said. 

Sir Guy handed her up behind Balthamos on his high steed. And the three sped out of the camp and up the pass toward the imposing castle that would be Hogwarts, dotted with the lightened windows of several inhabitants that would not sleep tonight. 

Lucy glanced back at Galahad and was overcome with the sick and unpleasant thought that this would be the last time that she would see him alive. 

***

"Are you all right?" Ginny said despite the fact that hot tears were warming her face as her teeth chattered. 

"Oh, just grand," Harry spat sarcastically. He was sprawled on the leaf-strewn forest floor clutching at his left leg. 

Ginny brushed her tears and her grief aside and paid no attention to the fact that Harry was angry with her. She bent shivering to the ground and felt the bone below his knee—a clean break. It would be easy for her to heal, even though she was a medical magic dropout. 

She put her wand to the injury and muttered the incantation that repaired the damage. Silently she helped him to his feet and turned to continue their trek to the castle. 

"Are you going to ignore my question all night and pretend that you did the right thing?" Harry asked after a while. 

Ginny sighed with exhaustion and said, "What question was that?"

"Don't pretend that you don't know what we were talking about," Harry raged. 

Ginny stopped and spun around to look at him. He was following her closely and had to stop quickly to avoid a collision. It was apparent that they had already collided in another sense. "I'm sorry that I wasn't hanging on your every word, Harry. I do have other concerns, you know, than jumping to your will."

"That's not what I meant," Harry yelled. "And what other concerns would you have? You were up there for like five minutes!"

Ginny's tears were flooding her cheeks with angry rage. Couldn't everyone stop for just two goddamn seconds so that she could catch her breath? "Five minutes was plenty of time for Draco to find me in the woods in 1352 and tell me to stay the hell out of his life because I had fucked it up irrevocably."

"Malfoy's here?" was all Harry said. 

"Yes."

"Jesus, Ginny! What the hell is wrong with you?" Harry began. "What were you doing with him to begin with? You knew that this would happen. I think you like it."

Ginny blinked, "I like it?"

"All of this drama. It's always been that way, ever since I met you. It wouldn't have happened the way it had if you hadn't whined to Tom and thrown yourself a pity party for him to prey on. It's always been that way. I think you're a masochist. Why else would you give Draco the time of day?"

Ginny was just as angry. "Well, I don't know, Harry. Why are you chasing after a girl who doesn't want your rescuing?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, bewildered. 

"Lucy, you great dim idiot!" Ginny raged. "She didn't want you interfering, but here you are."

"That's not the same," Harry insisted. 

"Why isn't it?"

Harry set his jaw and glared at her. "Because she's worth it and because I know that she—," he stopped wisely. But it had been enough for Ginny to get his meaning. 

She looked struck. "Because you know she loves you. And me, I'm just chasing the idea of love." She said it softly, hollowly, like a fact. 

"Ginny," Harry began. 

"For once, you know, you're probably right. I must be a masochist," she said. 

Harry looked like he wanted to say something, to apologize, but didn't. 

Ginny turned and continued. There was a path now and the castle was only about twenty minutes away. She saw two men on horseback approaching as well. They must have heard the commotion that she had caused. She was numb. She didn't care. It would have been nice to be run through on a broadsword at the moment—a reprieve. 

She was almost disappointed when she saw that it was Faramir and Isaiah on horseback. 

Isaiah had his sword drawn. 

Harry took a deep breath behind her. She knew he would reach for his sword. "Don't Harry. Don't let him see that you have it. That's Isaiah and he'll kill you for it…in fact," she said, icily, "pull it right out and wave it in his face."

Harry took his hand from the hilt and drew his cloak around it. 

Ginny approached the two coolly. 

Isaiah addressed her first. "Virginia. How glad I am to see you. Azria has been waiting for you."

"Will you take us to her?" Ginny asked. 

"Tell me who this is?" he asked. 

"Humbly, my lord," Ginny said with a quick bow. "This is Harry Potter." She turned to Faramir and said, "Your heir, good sir."

"Very well. Come with us," Isaiah conceded, extending a hand to Ginny and swinging her up on his horse behind him. Harry rode with Faramir, stealing tentative looks at Ginny. None of them were returned though she was aware of everyone. She kept a mask of a blank expression. 

As the drawbridge closed behind them, she saw Mungo. It was the first sight that truly did her heart good. She didn't wait for Isaiah to help her down but jumped by herself and ran to him. 

"Mungo!" she cried, flinging herself into his arms. He was shocked but characteristically compassionate. 

"Virginia? Are you not well?" he asked. 

"I am well. But glad to see you," she answered. 

"Ginny?" Harry said from behind her. 

"Go, Harry. Go with Isaiah and Faramir."

"But, Ginny. I said I wouldn't leave you," Harry argued. 

"Please go. You wanted to find Lucy didn't you?" she said just as icily as she had before. 

Harry didn't argue. He knew he had hurt her and she would not hear an apology. He left with his ancestor and the Gryffindor Lord regretfully. 

***

"You both had better start explaining," Bill said when Ron had come inside. 

Ron looked to Hermione and she didn't return the look. 

He began to explain everything that he and Hermione had discussed in the snow outside. 

Hermione turned and went upstairs, locking Ginny's door behind her. 


	20. That World Never Came

Disclaimer: The characters, places and situations of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K Rowling. I own Lucy, Anni and a bunch of minor characters that aren't worth mentioning. All of the Founders' children and heirs are mine as well. Balthamos belongs to Phillip Pullman, but I borrowed him. 

Author's Note: For those of you who are curious, Occitan is a dead language that was spoken in medieval France and England, among many others. 

Thank You's: 

Hibiscus: Yes. Damn that Draco! And I'm glad that you love Harry and Ginny's interactions. They are two that I really indulge in. I just love their dynamic (non-ship relationship, that is). 

Soup: you know you rock. 

Lady Branon: I'm glad you liked the chapter. It's one of my particular favorites. But these last chapters are like children, I couldn't pick one out of the bunch that I liked more than the others. I'm glad you've given the okay on tragic (as it's already written). Glad to see that I have a tough crowd reading my work. Keeps me on my toes. 

Oliverwoodsgirl: Bill would never harm a child. I will give you one hint: Cora was with Gabriel when he was snatched. Gabriel was needed for something and she was just expendable. Sad, but efficient. Brother Marcus (the Abbot) was modeled after a shady character in _Timeline by Michael Crichton and is meant to make a point about all corrupt clergymen of the time, but no one specifically. _

Chapter Twenty

That World Never Came

_"Someone told me _

_Love would all save us_

_But, how can that be?_

_Look what love gave us_

_A world full of killing _

_And blood spilling…_

_That world never came_

_And they say that_

_A hero could save us_

_I'm not going to stand her and wait_

_I'll hold on to the wings of the eagles _

_Watch as we all fly away…"_

_Chad__ Kroeger: 'Hero'_

                "Ron, you just let her leave?" Bill said outraged.

                "I'm not Ginny's keeper," Ron argued. "I wasn't even one of the last ones with her. That would be you and Harry."

                "And the last time that you saw either of them was at the garden gate?" Bill clarified. 

                "Yeah," said Ron. "They were both standing there when you brought the dead girl in."

                "You know what, Ron? Could you show at least one ounce of respect? She's dead and her parents are in shock. Someone killed her and they very well may have hurt the other one, or worse."

                Ron said nothing but glared at his brother mutinously. 

                As the others came in from the cold, no lost little boy in tow, George asked, "Where's mum, Anni?"

                Bill rubbed his temples, seething from his conversation with Ron. "At the hospital. The Muggle one St. Something-I-Don't-Remember. There's a note." 

                George found the note and read. "I'm going," he said. 

                "Take Ron and Hermione with you," Bill said eyeing Ron coolly. 

                Charlie looked between the two and immediately knew that something was even more wrong then when he'd left the kitchen two hours ago. 

                Fred and George moved toward the door. George handed Ron his cloak. 

                Taking it reluctantly, he stomped up the stairs to retrieve Hermione. 

                Bill looked to Fred and George and said, "Don't let either of them out of your sight."

                Ron came back down the stairs alone. "She won't come. She says she's going home."

                "Fine. I'll take her on my way to the Ministry," Bill said flatly. 

                "Is there something going on that we don't know about?" George asked. 

                "Where's Ginny?" Charlie observed. 

                "She's not here," Ron said. All eyes were on him. 

                "What do you mean she's not here?" Fred asked in a warning tone.         

                "I mean she left with Harry. They're both gone," Ron elaborated. 

                "Don't tell mum just yet," Bill said turning to Fred and George who nodded. "I don't think she could handle that on top of everything."

                "Where's his little girlfriend, then?" Charlie asked, puzzled. 

                "She's not his girlfriend and she's gone too," Ron said. Again there were more astonished looks. 

                "_Shit,_" Charlie said in a voice almost akin to awe. 

                "Charlie, come with me to tell dad?" Bill asked shrugging on his cloak over the tailored suit he'd worn to the wedding. 

                The other tuxedo clad individuals headed for the door. "Ron," Fred said sternly, holding the door open for him. Ron stood there for a moment and stared at Bill. 

                "I would have gone with him. We've always been able to handle whatever it was together."

                "Yeah, well one day you'll both grow up and realize that your not superheroes. I'm glad he left you behind. Harry is going to have some explaining to do as well as Ginny. You should be grateful that you aren't mixed up in whatever's going on," Bill said, focused entirely on Ron, drawn up to his full and intimidating height and as fierce as Ron had ever seen him. 

                Ron turned and left without another word. 

                "Are you going to tell me what's going on?" Charlie said when the others had left. 

                "Yeah. I'll give you the abridged version. But let's negotiate Hermione out of Ginny's room first." 

***

                "Who is that?" Faramir asked, craning over his horse, leaning forward in his saddle. Harry looked around and saw what he meant. 

                There were riders some distance off. The glint of silver and armor was unmistakable. 

                "Another raiding party," Isaiah answered. "They are getting close this time. It will begin soon. Morning cannot be more then two hours off." Harry caught the glance that Isaiah gave to Faramir's sword, the sword of Gryffindor. He grudgingly looked away and at the riders again. 

                It seemed odd to Harry where one object existed twice in the same timeframe and place. It was the oddest sort of enigma. He wondered what Isaiah would do if he knew that he possessed its exact copy, the same sword but hundreds of years older. He would probably do as Ginny had said: kill him. He looked big enough and fierce enough. Harry drew his cloak tighter around the sword. 

                The stand of trees that he and Ginny had just traversed was their object of attention at the moment. Three soldiers in the silver and green of Slytherin emerged from that very stand. The three of them watched in silence as one of the soldiers of Slytherin wheeled in the opposite direction as his other two companions. 

                "Is that one headed for the castle across the mill bridge?" Faramir asked. 

                "Yea, but it is in ruins now. He'll have to swim it. I hope he is a skilled rider with a fair beast," Isaiah answered, wheeling his horse to face Faramir. 

                "My lord," Faramir said, indicating the other two. Instead of following the first rider to the river and across it, they charged at full speed away from all of the structures and into the open field toward the camp lights of the mounting Slytherin army just on the dark horizon. 

                "Take the two. I will take the lone rider. Meet me at camp," Isaiah commanded as he dug his heels into his horse's flanks. 

                "Get your sword at the ready, heir," Faramir said with a wicked smile to Harry, who wore a stunned expression. 

                Harry, for his part, pulled his sword from its sheath, feeling at once confident of his skill with it. He knew that it wasn't a learned skill. It was like Parseltongue. It was innate. He guessed that it had something to do with the fibula. They worked together. His mount, however, was less than sure and he flopped after Faramir who charged after the two soldiers expertly. 

                When he had come within range of the first one, Faramir leapt from his own horse and onto that of the enemy rider. Harry watched, stunned and distracted as he saw him pull the rider off of his mount and crash to the ground, clanging armor and swords. 

                "The other one, heir. Go!" Faramir shouted as he wrestled with the dismounted soldier. 

                Harry put on a burst of speed and gained on the remaining soldier. How he was catching up to him, Harry couldn't guess. It was definitely not by his superior skills as a horseman. Despite his flouncing, he managed to keep a grip on both the sword and the reins. The speed and success of the horse was by its own merit and despite its inept rider. Harry was alongside the enemy rider now. 

                The soldier glared at Harry and threw a fist out. This was oddly like Quidditch with Malfoy on the field, Harry thought briefly. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the challenge or the game. 

                Unlike in Quidditch, Harry hit back, landing a punch square in his opponent's jaw. 

                The soldier was dazed, but nothing more than that. 

                He was nearly knocked from his mount when the rider elbowed him in the ribs. He gasped and lost his breath, but gained a greater sense of clarity. In a voice that sounded a lot like his former Quidditch Captain and personal tormentor, Oliver Wood, an idea came to him, screaming, "This is no time to be a gentleman, Harry! Knock her off of her broom if you have to!" Of course, this was not Cho Chang and it was hardly a broom he was trying to unseat his opponent from. He switched hands and grasped the hilt of his sword in his left hand and brought it down hard against the back of the rider's skull. He had let go of the reins to shift grip on the sword and had no hold of the horse. He fell clear of the horse's hooves as the animal stopped downfield a few paces when it had become rider-less. 

                Harry was on his feet at once. He grabbed up his sword and cautiously approached the Slytherin rider who lay motionless on the frozen ground ahead of him. He was unconscious. 

                He kept watch on the scout. 

                Presently Faramir rode up to him. "Dead?"

                "Knocked out," Harry said. 

                "Well done, heir. A prisoner."

                "And yours?" Harry asked, "Is he dead?" 

                "Of course, heir," Faramir said, bringing Harry's horse and that of the scout's around. 

                Harry mounted his and let Faramir handle the unconscious soldier. 

                "Of course," repeated Harry in a daze, his glasses oddly askew.  

                Faramir smiled and clapped him roughly on the shoulder. "Isaiah will be expecting us back at camp."

                They turned to leave. Faramir was in high spirits. Harry followed, shaking his head as if to wake himself from a dream—a horribly surreal dream. 

***

                "And you fought a soldier of Slytherin who gave you these marks?" Mungo said examining Ginny's marked neck with great attention and care, healing each bruise as he heard her explanation. 

                "Well, he was already dying. Harry just helped him along a bit," Ginny explained, trying to keep her wincing to a minimum. "I did nothing but cough and gasp."

                Mungo looked like he wanted to contradict her but did not. "Claire will see that you are dry and in warmer clothes. Then you must sleep. There will be a battle by dawn. I will need you awake and ready to help." He stood and replaced his wand in the folds of his dark monastic robes. 

Opening the door timidly and peeking through was the girl Claire. 

                Ginny had seen her once before and talked to her briefly. Now she was almost overcome with a sense of helplessness as the girl brought fresh to Ginny's mind the fate that she and her family were soon to meet. 

                "I leave you to see to the rest of her needs," Mungo said to the girl. 

                "Humbly, my lord," Claire replied with a small bow of her demurely covered head. Linen of the cleanest white framed her face, but the dark color of her hair cast a shadow about the linen. Ginny guessed that her hair must be at least as dark as Harry's. It was characteristic of the Potters. 

                Mungo left them both with a bow and a smile, closing the door behind them. 

                Ginny watched in silence as the girl bustled about the bedchamber that she had been placed in. She faintly wondered in which part of the familiar castle she'd been taken to as the girl silently poured a pitcher of steaming water into a basin and flung a white linen cloth, like the one wrapping her hair, over one shoulder, rolling up the sleeves of her modest dress. 

                She looked at Ginny expectantly. "Undress. You must get clean."

                Ginny blinked and stared. 

                "Is there something wrong?" Claire asked. 

                "No. Nothing. I usually clean myself. Though I greatly appreciate your assistance, I am capable," Ginny said, flustered. She was unaccustomed to having anything done for her. 

                "Very well, as you wish," the girl consented and stepped aside. 

                Ginny watched as Claire busied herself laying out a clean set of clothes and turning down the bed, tending the fire. 

                She dipped a cloth into the warm and clean water, sending pleasant shocks up through her fingertips and down through her frozen limbs. It felt wonderful to scrub the blood from her face and scratched hands. The basin was soon a murky brown color and she announced herself to be clean. 

                The girl came over and stared. "You are not clean, lady."

                Ginny showed Claire her hands, all of the dirt gone from under her fingernails. 

                Claire shook her head and grabbed the cloth from the basin. "Bend your neck," she commanded. 

                Ginny obeyed. 

                Brushing her now tangled hair to one side, Claire scrubbed at her neck and then at her exposed arms until she was satisfied. This struck Ginny as odd. Her misconception of medieval people had always been that they were dirty. Now, she was coming to the realization that they almost made a fetish of being clean.     

                Ginny gave up her modesty and let the girl take her wet cloak and torn dress. She had become grateful for Claire's help the instant she realized how involved a task it was to be dressed in clothing of the time. It wasn't like transfiguring a pair of jeans and a shirt into a status neutral woolen cassock. These clothes, fine cloth in deep emerald with gold piping, were intricate garments that she wouldn't have had a prayer of contriving herself into on her own. They must have come from Azria, she guessed, as she had rarely seen any of the other women dress this richly. Maren must, she conceded, at times dress like a girl. But to Ginny that didn't seem like a habit she got into regularly. 

                Claire silently brushed the tangles out of her hair and braided it away from her face. 

                Ginny felt like someone else entirely. 

                "You are beautiful when you are not disguised as a peasant, lady," Claire observed, making Ginny blush. 

                "I am a peasant," Ginny said with shame. 

                Claire merely smiled peaceably. "Will you eat? Or will you sleep?" 

                "Neither. I wish to see the Lady Azria," Ginny said eliciting a frown from the girl. 

                "The Lady Azria is not yet back from the chapel."

                "The chapel?" Ginny asked, knowing that Claire referred to the one that stood at the outskirts of Hogsmeade in her own time. She was vaguely curious to see it in all of its 1352 splendor. 

                "The lady has gone to pray for the souls of the men that will soon die in battle," Claire said sadly. 

                Ginny put a hand to the girl's shoulder and felt it tremble. "Your brother will be safe. He is with the Lords Ravenclaw and Gryffindor. He will come to no harm," Ginny said reassuringly. 

                "You are a seer, I know. So I will believe your assurances," Claire said. "But I cannot deny that I am frightened."

                Ginny bit her lip. Azria had explained to her that being a seer was not to be given the power to change fate. Fate will work its will regardless. But she wanted so very desperately in that moment to warn Claire about herself and the rest of her family. She felt like a murderer, looking into the scared brown eyes and the face like Harry's as she told her that she had no need to be frightened. 

                Ginny opened her mouth to tell the girl everything when another servant, a girl in white like Claire but a bit older, came through the door. 

                "Forgive me, lady," she said with a bow. "Claire is needed downstairs."

                Ginny released her and let her leave reluctantly. 

                As if she knew that Ginny wanted to tell her, Claire glanced back quickly, but left the room without a word.

***

                It was a chance he knew he had to take. 

                Draco was keenly aware of the fact that these scouts had been given the order not to let him out of their sights. They had already gambled much when they split up in the woods. Now he was kicking himself for having let Ginny Weasley deter him from his great escape. He knew no other chance would present itself if he didn't take this last one. 

                He saw the two scouts return from the woods almost as soon as he had come out of them himself. He had been distracted, and he shouldn't be. But Ginny's assumptions had hurt and he could tell by her face when he had finally left her that his words had hurt her just as much. He might have been more cautious with regard to her heart had he believed that he would survive all of this. But he could live with a broken heart for a few more hours, until he died. He was unused to considering the hearts of others, though. And he hadn't considered hers. 

                If he could get to Lucy, he could free her and go back to his father before the news of her escape would even reach him. He could give her a fighting chance. He couldn't see how they could both make it out, but that didn't matter. 

                The two scouts, mounted and ready to leave, noted him, watched him. 

                With quick resolve he planted his heels squarely into the flanks of his horse and charged to the mill bridge and to the castle of Hufflepuff where his sister was being held. 

                The scouts reacted almost immediately, charging off in the opposite direction to warn his father. It would be down to whose horse was fastest. It would be Draco's. It had to be. 

                He knew that the mill was history and that the bridge was out. He would swim it. He would have to or give up now. There was no giving up. 

                He shook the flakes of snow that settled on his eyelashes and kept his heels down, he leaned forward and urged the horse on. Faster. 

                He glanced behind to check the progress of the two scouts and found an obstacle he hadn't counted on had presented itself. There was a soldier chasing him. A soldier of Gryffindor was following him.

                "Fucking gung-ho bastard," Draco said under his breath as he turned his attention back to his riding. "You'll have to catch me first." His mind oddly turned to Qudditch. It was a lot like a game with Potter. Eating his Nimbus dust like always. 

                He was at the river and crossing it slowed him tremendously. His horse splashed and faltered and finally found footing. He had inadvertently found a relatively shallow spot to cross. 

                But his pursuer was on him in that same moment, splashing into the water next to him. 

                Sword in hand and reigns in the other, Draco dealt the Gryffindor scout a dizzying blow just above his ear. 

                He was surprised to see that the scout was not dazed in the least. _Shit! These bastards are tough!_

                Draco was unused to combat on horseback. He fenced for fun and rode for fun and never had he thought of mixing the two. 

                He was wet through in an instant, ducking more blows than he was dealing. All the while his horse struggled to the shore. 

                The Gryffindor was right behind him. 

                Unexpectedly, Draco wheeled on his horse before the scout could gain a purchase on the shore and slashed with his sword in one decisive and powerful swing. 

                The scout gripped at his shoulder and shouted some sort of taunt in a dead language. It might have been a stab at his mother; Draco's translation was a bit fuzzy. 

                "Your mother too, you stupid son of a bitch!" Draco yelled, raising his sword in a violent arc that the Gryffindor had to duck, almost falling from his saddle. 

                He righted himself and Draco had to wheel to get in another good swing. 

                The scout took the opportunity as Draco's horse and his own were struggling up the icy shore to strike. His fist connected cleanly with Draco's throat, knocking the wind out of him and unseating him as well. His crashing fall to the hard ground was the last he would remember of the fight, other than the realization that this was nothing like Quidditch with Potter. 

***

                _She saw it in his eyes, he was sorry. She was sorry too. It was almost a crippling realization. The voice that lived in the back of her mind told her over and over again that it was gone, that part of her life. She didn't want it to be. _

_                Over her shoulder she glanced the doorway that Faramir and Lucy had just left through. They were safe. _

_                She turned to Isaiah. She could have done something for him if she'd had her wand. She was helpless without it, she realized. Every talent that she'd ever thought she'd had, every merit that was to her credit, she was useless to save this man and she was useless entirely. _

_                "Get out!" he said to her as ash and falling timbers made the air more and more un-breathable. _

_                She coughed and her eyes stung. "I can't leave him here," she pleaded. _

_                "Ginny, go. Get out of here," he said, covering his mouth with one arm and lifting Isaiah into a sitting position with the other. "This whole place will collapse. There is an armory next to it."_

_                She knew the weight of the consequences, but she would no more leave him than she would Isaiah. _

_                "And what will you do?" she asked, coughing in more smoke. _

_                He reached out grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck and flung her toward him as another tapestry fell from the rafters, where she was crouching. She righted herself and kicked the flaming fabric away from herself and Isaiah's prone form. _

_                "I'll be right behind you. I promise. Ginny, I won't leave you." She searched his eyes. He had made a lot of promises lately. His eyes told her that he would keep this one despite everything. _

_                She stood and stepped away, over the tapestry ablaze, dizzy with smoke and heat. _

_                She looked back to reassure herself that he was right behind. He was lifting Isaiah carefully. _

_                It was then that they were divided as a large beam came crashing down in flames. It split the room in a fiery line, demarcating who would leave and who would not. _

_                "Go!" he shouted, more ferociously this time. He set Isaiah back on the floor, careful of his head and his injury. "We'll find another way out."_

_                "No! I'm not leaving without you!"_

_                She saw him through flame. It was the worst and most haunting of her dreams. Through the fury of red and orange raging up around him and around her, he met her eyes and told her: "You have to."_

_                She opened her mouth to say more but was knocked to the floor by another flaming projectile from the fast incinerating roof of the complex. Lying there she thought to tell him something, but what, she couldn't guess. She was overcome with the need to say something, anything. Their last moments together couldn't have been filled with silence… they mustn't be. _

_                She struggled for words, but unconsciousness tugged at her and pulled her down and that was the end of all that she could remember. _

                She sat up with a violent gasp. Her lungs fought for air as if there was still smoke to fight through for every breath. But the air was clean and fresh and she sat on a bed, safe—safe and alone. 

_                It took her a moment, but she struggled with herself. She gained control of her senses and her dizziness and decided that crying would get her nowhere. _

                She stood and waited to overcome another bout of dizziness, faintly feeling warm. She blinked and let her eyes come into focus and then she set out to find Mungo and make herself useful. 

***

                "Is it fixable?" Lucy asked, holding out her cracked Time-Turner to the girl. 

                Claire took the charm and its delicate chain. Surveying it for some moments, she turned without saying a word and crouched at the fire. 

                Lucy looked to Balthamos who was in silent conversation with Sir Guy. She waited until the latter had bowed and left to return to Galahad's camp and to his service. 

                "Will we leave immediately?" Lucy asked. 

                "As soon as you have need to, lady," Balthamos said with an officious bow. 

                "I do not know how much longer it will take her to repair my charm, but I cannot leave without it," Lucy replied. She looked anxiously to the girl at the fire who was working slowly but carefully. 

                "As you wish, lady. I will be at the hand of the Lord of Hufflepuff if you have need of me until then," he said with another bow. 

                Lucy bowed as well. "I thank you scout Balthamos. I will call as soon as I am ready."

                He left. 

                Lucy went to Claire at the fire and watched for a while without a word. Claire was set to the task of repeatedly firing and charming the glass back together. It was curious and Lucy had read about these rare and delicate crafts-women. She hadn't any idea that she would ever cross someone with such a talent, let alone one so young. She marveled at the girl for many reasons, her talent at the forge was only one of them. She resembled Harry in many ways. Their features and expressions were very much alike. Faramir and Harry could not have born a stronger resemblance. 

                "You are the sister of Faramir, are you not?" Lucy asked, hoping that she didn't sound rude. 

                "I am," Claire answered, never taking her eyes off of her work. 

                Lucy had a sudden recollection of her face, but there was no life in it. She had remembered this girl's face, the way her hair was bound up in the same white cloth, the same smudge of soot on her cheek where she had just brushed her raven hair back from her face. This was Claire, sister to Faramir. She would die this same day, as would her parents and two younger brothers.    

                Lucy felt a rush of panic as she noted the exact way this girl, no older than she, looked now in life so much like she would in death—a death that Lucy had seen. Her throat would be slashed. She would be found, clinging to her small and frightened brother, also dead. 

                Something overcame her senses, her caution, her decorum in that moment. Lucy flung herself to her knees and placed a hand on each of the girl's shoulders, jerking her roughly away from the fire and from her work. 

                Claire for her part was shocked and frightened and feared that she had done something wrong. She began apologizing and her eyes darted quickly from the fire to the charm in her hand to Lucy's warning and urgent eyes. 

                "Claire, listen to me!" she said. "You have to get out of here. Leave."

                Claire looked her in the eyes. "Are you quite well, lady?" 

                "You have to get out of here!" Lucy said again, "There is no time. The battle is almost upon us and you will not survive it if you stay. I swear it!"

                Claire's eyes were wide with astonishment. "You swear against my life, lady?"

                "No," Lucy explained frantically. "I am telling you that you and your family will not make it out of here alive!" 

                Claire shrugged her shoulders out of Lucy's grip and stood. "You swear against me, lady, and you are forgiven. Bringing curses about on my family is unforgivable."

                Lucy clasped her hands together in a prayer-like fashion. "Please believe me, I have seen it. It will come to pass as I say!" she pleaded. "Please, go to your family, get them out!" 

                "I will not hear this!" Claire said with more hostility than the girl had ever felt in her life. "It is my duty to remain with the Lady Azria until she has no more need of me, and my father's duty to his family and his home. He will not desert them and neither shall I!" She stormed out with angry footsteps. 

                Lucy thought of going after her. She picked the still very hot Time-Turner up out of the fire. It was mended. She stood to run after Claire but was halted by the entrance of Maren and Azria. 

***

                Harry watched with Galahad and Faramir at the fire as Isaiah rode into camp. He had another horse in tow and a scout, the one he had chased down, flung over its saddle. 

                He hurriedly jumped from the mount of his own animal and called Galahad to him. 

                Harry watched them through the flames. They discussed the soldier unconscious on the horse. He studied their faces, tried to read their expressions. They were both stern and hid every kind of emotion with the skill of a spy. It was curious, Harry thought, the way Isaiah brought a knife from his left boot and tore at the tunic sleeve of the scout. 

                Galahad watched this and leaned closer to examine something that they found or didn't find on the scout's arm. What did that mean, he wondered? 

                Presently, Galahad glanced back at Harry. For his part, Harry averted his eyes to the fire, pretty sure that guys his size didn't put up with eavesdropping. When both soldiers turned back to the unconscious scout, Harry's eyes were on them again. They took him down from the saddle and tied him to the tree where the scout he had apprehended lay bound and gagged, awaiting interrogation. 

                His hair was an unmistakable silver blond. 

                _Hell! _

                Harry stood and Faramir followed. 

                Galahad and Isaiah met them halfway to the tree. 

                "Heir, do you know this scout?" Galahad asked him before they had reached the place where Draco lay, still unconscious. 

                "Yes," Harry answered. "What did you do to him?"

                "I knew he was not from our time when he spoke that same filthy half-language that you and the other heirs go about using," Isaiah explained, pointing with his dagger. "And there is no mark of the Legion of Slytherin on him, which is the mark of every soldier of that house."

                "What does this mark look like?" Harry asked. 

                "The skull of a dead man entwined with a serpent," Galahad elaborated. 

                _Just give him time,_ Harry wanted to say uncharitably. He wisely kept his mouth shut. 

                "Is he to be trusted?" Isaiah said, giving Draco a sideways glance. 

                "Yes," Harry said. Then turning to Galahad he added, "He is the brother of the Ravenclaw Heir."

                "This is the brother of Lucilla?" 

                "The very one," Harry said. 

                "Is he faithful to his father?" Galahad asked, now eyeing him in the same manner that Isaiah had. 

                "No. He is faithful to his sister alone," Harry said with confidence. 

                Isaiah and Galahad removed themselves to the fire at Galahad's tent to discuss further this new development. 

                Harry sat down beside Draco who was motionless and Faramir stared between the two, leaning against an opposite tree. 

                "The absence of the mark of the legion was probably what saved your friend's life," Faramir said finally. 

                "He is no friend of mine," Harry countered. 

                "Then why is it that I saw alarm like no other spread across your face when he was brought in?" Faramir said, as if he had caught Harry in a conundrum of his own devising. 

                Harry set his jaw and resolved not to play this game. Faramir smiled and wouldn't give an inch. 

                "His sister would be upset if anything happened to him. That is all," Harry said. 

                "That is all, heir?" Faramir asked with his arms folded in front of him. 

                "That is all," Harry said. It was a blessed relief that Draco began to stir. 

                He sat up urgently and looked around. 

                Faramir and Harry stared, waiting for him to speak. 

                He saw Harry and his expression darkened. "What the hell, Potter?"

                "What the hell, Malfoy?" Harry echoed. 

                "You've killed her. You and me and your idiot scout over there," Draco said, seething. 

                "Lucy?" Harry asked. He was not goading, but being as peaceable as it was in him to be. 

                "Yes, Lucy." He sat up. "Those scouts that were riding with me are probably back with my father now and telling him that I have betrayed him. I was on my way to her when—," Draco began. 

                Harry interrupted him. "When Isaiah Gryffindor stopped you from riding into a nest of Slytherins where Lucy happened to escape from already?"

                "She escaped?" Draco said, stunned. 

                "So Galahad has told us. She was here not long before you and I arrived."

                "Where is she? I want to see her," Draco demanded in a steely voice. 

                Harry sighed. "She was taken by a guard of Galahad's to Maren. They will siege the monastery where Gabriel is being held."

                "Am I being held prisoner?" Draco asked. 

                "I don't think so, why?" Harry said, blinking. 

                Draco struggled against his bonds. "Because I seem to have been _accidentally tied up."_

                Faramir, who had been a silent observer in the proceedings, offered a knife to Harry who cut the bonds holding Draco to the tree. 

                He stood and rubbed at his neck, wincing slightly. 

                "Isaiah will want to speak to you. I've told him that you can be trusted. Don't make me into a liar, Malfoy," Harry warned. 

                "You are what you are. I can't change that," Draco said coolly. 

                Harry bit back a response. He took a deep breath and said, "Can't we drop this for just an hour or two and do what we have to do without the exchange of wit?" he said, holding out his hands in truce. 

                Draco began to walk to the fire where Galahad and Isaiah sat, but turned. "That exchange is totally one sided, don't kid yourself. Besides, what is it that's so terribly important for you to do? Already saved the wizarding world of the present and so you thought you'd systematically work your way through the past?"

                Harry nodded and suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "Something like that."

                Draco snorted and walked away. 

***

                Ginny found Mungo bent over a table of herbs and liquid mixtures. He was studying a caldron full of a bubbling concoction with undivided attention. Ginny wasn't sure that he'd heard her come in. 

                "Has it started yet?" Ginny asked. 

                He looked up, surprised that she had found him. "I thought you were resting?"

                "Resting does not exactly agree with me," Ginny said with a weak smile. "Is there something I can help you with?"

                "The raiding parties are getting fewer. The real fighting will start soon. I am preparing for a long day of healing. You may help if you like. You have had experience in potions and in healing, I gather?" Mungo said, preoccupied. 

                "Yes, quite a bit of both," Ginny said. 

                "Then, you can set yourself to work crushing these," he said, handing her dried roots. "As fine as you can get them."

                Ginny did precisely as she was told. She turned her attention to the task fully. Looking up at the distracted monk she debated whether to ask him about Claire, but didn't. 

                "What does Eowyn plan to do with the child?" she asked instead. 

                "What child?" Mungo asked taking stock of the already finished concoctions he had been preparing nonstop for several days now. He wanted to make sure he had enough, though if it came to it he would use much more drastic measures of healing. He was willing to make that sacrifice—a sacrifice that he had prepared his whole life for. 

                "There was a child taken from our time, mine and Lucy's. That is why we have come back. Lucy's father, the man you met her with by the mill that day you accused her of spying for Eowyn, she followed him and spied for us. Eowyn is planning to use him for something very odd and probably very dark. A universe, or another time like this…I do not know exactly." She stopped grinding and looked at him. 

                The color had drained from Mungo's already tired and worn face. 

                "But I do know." He stared at her for a long time. "Keep grinding. We shall talk while we work."

                Ginny bent to the task readily, but listened voraciously. 

                "It was her brother, Eomer, a monk like me and a thinker. He was a heretic and the most devout man I ever had the privilege of knowing. He created the otherworldly theory that you described, the universe. Eowyn and her father took his ideas and perverted them, developed them for their purposes. It was a black and evil day when they finally found the answer to the problem of how to open the universe now that they were positive of its existence. They used a child. Not one so young that it is still dependent upon its mother, but one young enough to have been untouched by sin. They have created things so vile and horrible I cannot describe them. Indeed, I have not the vocabulary to tell you of all that they have done. 

                How she came to use a child of your time…I am not certain. My understanding is that the child must have a preliminary spell cast on him…or her." Mungo stirred his caldron again distractedly. 

                "How far in advanced does the spell have to be cast?" Ginny asked, grinding tirelessly at the root. 

                "A week or more. I am not certain. I only know what Eomer told me…and he is now dead." His expression darkened and Ginny wanted to know more but didn't ask. There was something in Mungo's always kind and selfless demeanor that brooked no further comment. 

                She opened her mouth to change the subject when a man came to the door, dressed in the colors of Gryffindor. Mungo would have recognized him as a man of rank in the Gryffindor Army. As Ginny noted him, she only made out his stern features and the seal of Gryffindor displayed grandly on his chest. 

                "The Ladies Azria and Maren seek a conference with both you and the Lady Virginia," the man announced. 

                "Thank you, Balthamos," Mungo said, following him out, offering Ginny his arm. She took it, eager to speak with Azria and Maren. 

***

                "I am going back to my father," Draco said, staring at both Galahad and Isaiah with firm resolution. 

                Isaiah stood. Galahad said nothing. "You will fight against us? Against your ancestors?" Isaiah said warningly. 

                "I have to. If I am not back soon, he will send a party out to find Lucy. He may have already done…I don't know. If she and the Lady Maren are to find the child and free him, my father must not know." 

                Galahad rose and handed Draco the sword and sheath that Isaiah had taken from him. "Will you first come and speak with me? Your father's forces are no more than a morning's ride from here. The battle will be on by midday."

                Draco took his sword and followed Galahad to his tent, looking back to note the scowl on Isaiah's face. 

                "The Gryffindor heir says that you are to be trusted and so I will trust you. As you have the interests of your sister foremost in your thoughts, I trust you even more. You have to understand that everyone who has come here this night has a part to play, will you play the traitor?" Galahad asked, turning stern and unwavering eyes on him. 

                "Lucy has told me about this army my father has created." Draco busied himself with latching his sword back to his belt, not looking at Galahad. "There may be something I can do to help you."

                Galahad stared at him for a considerable time in silence. Draco, who seemed composed in every situation, felt like he would unravel under that penetrating stare. 

                Galahad finally clapped him on the shoulder and smiled. "We will accept your offer of help. We can handle the army of Slytherin, but this new army Lucilla tells me of…we could not defeat them."

                "I will do what I can," Draco said, slipping his leather gloves back over his numb hands. He turned to leave. 

                "Draco," Galahad said, coming out of the tent behind him. "Take care that you do not play the part of the martyr when this battle is underway. I would regret to lose a scout as brave as you."

                Draco looked up and blinked. He didn't know what to say and so said nothing. He bowed and called for his horse, which was brought immediately. 

                 He rode away without a word to Harry who stood next to Faramir. He thought that the look of great frustration and the sting of Galahad's words looked comical on the little Gryffindor prat's face. But he continued down the path for some distance and away toward his father's camp before he allowed himself a small smile of triumph. 

                "Why did you let him leave?" Harry said, astonished. 

                "It is his part to play, as you have your part, heir." Galahad came to sit next to Isaiah at the fire and examined the sizeable gash that Draco had made along Isaiah's right shoulder. 

                "My part?" Harry said. "What is my part then? What was his? To be strung up by the Slytherin mob, headed by his father, no doubt."

                "Draco knows the limits of what he can and cannot accomplish. Had he thought that it would be futile to return, he would not have," Galahad said with measured patience, tending to the wound carefully. 

                "Heir," Isaiah said finally. "You are here for a reason. It is not to try our patience. We have enough cares at the moment. Be still. There will come a time when you too are useful."

                Harry did as he was told grudgingly, staring into the fire with an unpleasant scowl on his face. 

                "Draco said that he might be able to work within the ranks. This army of his father's will be formidable. It is good that we have someone on the inside. Someone who knows the man who commands them," Galahad began. 

                Despite Harry's impatience he listened carefully. 

                "This contract between the man and Eowyn is half realized. This army was her wish. She wanted a force to outmatch that of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. She has it. He will soon have what he wished as well, unless someone can get that child out of her grasp. That child will be the key for this man, her conspirator, to create his own black kingdom. They are both to be stopped. This cannot be allowed to happen." Galahad had finished with Isaiah's wound and wrapped it securely, helping him back into his surcoat. 

                Isaiah didn't flinch. He looked as if he barely noticed the injury. "Why is another universe, this heresy of Eomer's, our concern at all? We are concerned with the preservation of our lands, our people and our way of living. Eowyn and her army are our concern."

                Galahad seemed to expect to meet opposition in Isaiah. He nodded. Everything that Isaiah said was true. "Because it was the last wish of a dying man, brother," he said softly. 

                Harry looked between the two as they exchanged some look of meaning that was beyond him. 

                Galahad turned abruptly to Harry and said, "That is your part heir."

                "What is?" Harry asked, confused. 

                "Your part is to stop the Lady Eowyn," Galahad said. 

                Harry blinked. "Why?"

                Galahad stared at him intensely. "Because that is what fate has assigned to you. The child is close to you and so it falls to you to see that he is protected. Eowyn is not to be harmed. But I knew immediately upon seeing you that you would no more hurt her than you would the child, or Lucilla. Indeed, Azria told me it would be so. You will ride with Faramir to the castle and go with the Lady Maren and the Lady Lucilla."

                Harry took a deep breath. He couldn't explain why, but it was impressed upon him that he should leave the sword behind, _his sword. He unlatched it. _

                It was the first time Isaiah had set eyes on it. He recognized it at once. 

                Harry kneeled before Isaiah and presented it to him. "I do not know why I give this over to you, but I feel that I must," Harry said. 

                Isaiah was shocked. He looked to Faramir who was a mask of expressionless interest. 

                "No, heir. That is yours. My father intended always for another to carry it. It was never mine, never my right." Isaiah looked to him. 

                Harry laid it on the ground at Isaiah's feet. Slowly he reached up to unclasp the fibula, Godric Gryffindor's fibula and offered it to him as well. 

                Isaiah, seeing this very humble gesture, pushed his hand away gently. "I will accept the sword. It is our only hope in facing this new and most villainous army. That trinket is yours. It is your right. Continue to wear it. Never take it off," he said urgently, pinning it to Harry's cloak again. 

                "And take my sword in the place of yours. May God speed you in your journey. I will see you in the hereafter and shall be pleased to call you brother," Isaiah continued. 

                Harry stood, taking the silver hilt of Isaiah's own sword. He was astonished, almost shell shocked to witness Isaiah, Lord of Gryffindor's next action. 

                He slid to his knees, the sword of Gryffindor between them and took one of Harry's frozen hands in his, kissed it and placed it to his forehead. "Go with God, brother," he said. 

                Faramir stood and took Harry by the shoulder, leading him to two fresh horses. 

                They rode off in silence. Harry was too dazed to speak. 

***

                Ginny entered the Great Hall, so different from the one in her own time. Her heart leapt as she saw Lucy standing just to Maren's right. She was dressed in the same fashion as her ancestor, like a man. She was wearing identical clothing to Maren's, even down to the surcoat of Ravenclaw with a bronze eagle on her chest. If it hadn't been for the black hair of Imogen, Lucy would look exactly like Maren, save younger. 

                "Lucy!" she gasped, relieved to see her. She left Mungo's side and ran to the girl who was beaming at her. 

                "How did I know that you would follow me?" Lucy smiled. 

                "Because we're in this together. Are you all right?" Ginny asked. 

                "Yes, fine. I broke my Time-Turner. Though now it is fixed." Lucy showed her the mended charm before tucking it into her blue surcoat. 

                Ginny looked at it and then to her friend again. She embraced her and whispered, "I am so glad to see you."

                Lucy blinked. "What's wrong Ginny?"

                Ginny pulled back and released her. "Did you know that your brother is here?" 

                Lucy's expression faltered. "Yes, he's here because of me. Did you see him? Did you speak to him?"

                "Yes," Ginny said. "It wasn't your fault. None of this was. It was mine. He so much as said so."

                Lucy looked up at her friend. "I'm sorry, Ginny."

                "What will you do?" Ginny asked, changing the subject. 

                "Gabriel is at the monastery," she explained. "We go there as soon as we can, but first," Lucy stopped, gesturing to Azria and Maren.   

                Mungo had seated himself near the fire. Azria and Maren had also removed themselves to the warm blaze. 

                Lucy stood at Maren's right and Ginny came to stand behind Mungo. 

                "Lucilla," Mungo asked, "What of the monastery?"

                "That is where the Lady Eowyn has taken the child Gabriel. I wish to rescue him from there. They will use him for evil ends. I know. I have overheard my father and the lady discussing this very plot on two occasions."

                Mungo seemed to consider this. "And you are adamant that the order there is sheltering Eowyn's plans and implements?"

                Lucy thought on this for a moment and said, "I cannot be sure. I know that she was admitted willingly into the order. One of the monks let her and the guard and the child in. But she did not seem to trust all of them. When I challenged her, she told the guard not to let the child out of his sight. Are there still loyal brothers among your order?"

                "Very many. I can only guess that it is the doing of the new Abbot, Abbot Marcus. The rest of the order would not know about this matter," Mungo said pensively. 

                "Galahad spoke of Abbot Marcus. Tell me, how long has he been in the service of your monastery?" Lucy asked. 

                Ginny listened to it all very curiously. 

                "He has been the Abbot here for only two summers," Mungo answered. "I can only say that he is working with Eowyn under the knowledge of a few of our order. The whole would not have consented, I would not have consented."

                "Then we have the help of the order in saving the child?" Maren asked. 

                Mungo looked between her and her heir. "Yes, you do have that. I will go with you," he offered. 

                Azria stood, "Brother, no. I will need you. There will be many to tend to as soon as the battle is on. Virginia and I will not be able to save them all. Not by half. You are needed here."

                Mungo looked to be in some internal struggle. He wanted to see, to know, to do inside of his monastery, for an order that he had devoted his life to, now being torn apart. But he could not abandon Azria, he never could.

                He meant to say something in that instant when the large doors at the end of the hall were opened. 

                It was Faramir who entered and Ginny was overcome with the urge to warn him of his family as she had been when in the presence of Claire. 

                Behind Faramir entered Harry. Both were worn and visibly tired. 

                Mungo stood. "What news, Faramir?" 

                "The camps have moved. They will be upon us soon. The armies of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor are at the ready. We expect them to be here before midday," he said, officially. Already the sun was above the Hebrides. The battle would begin in no time. 

                "Isaiah has been given the power of his father's sword, and so I have the same. We will ride at the head of the ranks. But the sword of Gryffindor has been blessed for this work, for this particular threat, the sword of the past and the yet to come. My heir has given his up for this task."

                Ginny looked to Harry whose eyes were on her as well. Without a word, an indication of forgiveness and truce that she probably should have given, she turned back to Faramir. 

He continued, "A scout of the Slytherin Legion is on our side. The brother of the heir of the good Lady Maren has come to us and warned us of the danger. We shall be ready for it. He has pledged his help to us from behind the enemy's lines. It is a difficult task, but it is his and will be performed well."

Ginny heard a deep intake of air from Lucy but did not turn to look at her. 

Faramir continued, "The Heir of the Chosen of Gryffindor will ride with you, Lady Maren to the Monastery. He will aid in the rescue of the child."

"We accept his aid," Maren said with a bow. 

Faramir bowed as well. 

"Godspeed, brother," Mungo said, embracing Faramir. He turned to go, leaving Harry. 

"The Lady Maren, the Lady Lucilla, and the heir of Gryffindor will, with the scout Balthamos, to the monastery." Mungo turned to his sister and her heir. "We will remain for the dead and the dying."

Both Azria and Ginny nodded. 

The group bound for the monastery left in the next moment. 

Ginny embraced Lucy and made her promise to take care. 

Lucy noticed the frigid animosity between Harry and Ginny that wasn't there before this night had happened, but said nothing. 

***

Ginny looked out over the expansive sloping plain that led to the walls of the castle that would be Hogwarts. Indeed, it must serve as a school now, but pending warfare would have effectively vacated the school of its students. 

She wrapped her green cloak around her and studied the walls. These would not be here in the twentieth century. She vaguely wondered when they had become obsolete and torn down. 

Past the walls, the armies of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor were assembling. The tense feeling of impending conflict was heavy on the air. 

Ginny tried to suppress the feeling of uselessness. Everyone else had a job to do. Draco was a spy in his father's camp. Harry was off being grand and noble and saving the day and even Lucy had left to be helpful to Maren in rescuing Gabriel. She was here, just outside of the walls, safe, doing no one any good. 

The monks, in modest and humble tunics and robes like Mungo's had already set to work dragging the bloody and battle-wounded from the fields where violent raids had taken place during the night. 

Presently a monk laid another wounded soldier in front of her and silently left for the killing fields again. All around her the dead and the soon to be dead were mounting. The battle had yet to begin and already her hands were bloody. 

Mungo and Azria worked silently on a scout a little way off. 

She watched with a shudder as the Slytherin guard shook and shouted and gasped. Azria held him down gently as her brother worked indiscriminately to save him. 

Ginny bent down over the boy in blue and bronze that was laid in front of her. He had a gentle face and serene eyes. He smiled at her and said, "I am dying, am I not, lady?" 

Ginny said nothing. With a warm smile she took his hand in hers and let him squeeze it as she removed the arrow from his ribs. With her wand she silently placed a charm over the boy to slow his breathing and render him unconscious. He bled too fast for her to control it. No charms worked. 

She squeezed his hand then let it drop from hers. "I'm sorry," she whispered. A tear fell from her cheek to his forehead. 

It was the first casualty she had ever experienced in her limited career of medical magic. And it hurt acutely. 

Reluctantly she left the boy's side and tended to the next in a growing line of people that needed her help. Some lived and some didn't. It still hurt fifteen lives lost later, but she was learning to harden herself to it. 

She couldn't look up when the battle had finally started, announced by much trumpeting, hoof-beats and clattering of arms and armor. She knew it had started when the three healers became swamped in bleeding and disfigured men, all calling out to be saved. 

She found herself in a swirling torrent of chaos; of arms and voices all reaching out to her pleading for her attention next. 

She looked to Mungo and then to Azria a way off and saw that she was not the only one being overwhelmed with the pleas of life ending and so set herself to help whomever she could while she could, placing the thought that Draco could be the next to be brought in firmly in the back of her mind. 


	21. Too Far Away

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters of J.K. Rowling's stories. Neither do I own the names Balthamos, Eomer, Eowyn, Faramir, or Sir Guy. I own a few original characters and they are very evident so I shall not name them. Like Sir Guy, Brother Daniel was modified from Sir Daniel of _Timeline, _along with Oliver, who is the character Sir Oliver in that same book. 

Author's Note: There are a few combat strategies that I stole from William Wallace. Big Braveheart fan am I. As a reminder, the language spoken in this period (among many including default Latin) is a language called Occitan. I apologize ahead of time if I offend any medieval scholars (like any would read my stories). I did research to get things right, but it is not possible to free myself from every twentieth-century faux pas out there. But I try. 

Thank you's:

Oliverwoodsgirl: I am so glad you liked last week's chapter. I have a feeling that if you like action you'll enjoy this one more. Like last chapter, more plot complications are resolved. Most of the pieces come together. 

Lady Brannon: Thank you so much for your review. 

*Warning: graphic violence. 

Chapter Twenty-One 

Too Far Away

 _"There's another world inside of me _

_That you may never see_

_There are secrets in this life that I can't hide _

_Somewhere in the darkness there's a life _

_That I can't find_

_Maybe it's too far away_

_Or maybe I'm just blind, maybe I'm just blind_

_So hold me when I'm here_

_Right me when I'm wrong_

_Hold me when I'm scared _

_And love me when I'm gone_

_Everything I am and everything in me_

_Wants to be the one you wanted me to be_

_I'll never let you down_

_Even if I could _

_I'd give up everything if only for your good_

_So hold me when I'm here_

_Right me when I'm gone_

_You can hold me when I'm sacred _

_But you won't always be there_

_So love me when I'm gone…"_

_Three Doors Down: 'When I'm Gone'_

Sirius' heart had been racing since the moment he'd heard Jill screaming for Gabriel. 

There had been a search. The search turned up nothing. 

They had gone to Dumbledore who assured them that there didn't seem to be an obvious link to the mass kidnappings that had been terrorizing the wizarding communities of Europe for months now and the disappearance of Jill's child. 

"Corbin!" Sirius called through the vacant offices urgently. 

Corbin was not there. But of course he would be with his family on Christmas day. 

Sirius looked at his watch…day after Christmas, then. 

"Calm down, Sirius," Dumbledore said, leaning gently on his cane. 

Sirius took a breath. "He's not here."

"Did you expect him to be? It's Christmas."

"Well…I just…Corbin's always here," Sirius explained, looking to Dumbledore like a confused and helpless child. 

Dumbledore nodded, striding over to Corbin's desk, and taking parchment and quill in hand, began to write. 

"What are you doing?" Sirius asked distractedly, shuffling through things in piles on his desk. Not as if he were looking for anything in particular, he was just moving things for the sake of moving them. He would have never become this unraveled with Jill present. But it was sadly apparent to Dumbledore that Sirius was just as distraught over the missing child as his mother was. 

"Writing to Mr. Corbin and asking him if he could take time out of his holidays to meet us at the Ministry for an unexpected emergency." Dumbledore folded the page and calmly attached it to Arabella's owl, Damien. 

"Ministry, right," Sirius said, running his hands through his hair. 

The bird flew off as Dumbledore, in his awkward gait, walked Sirius to the door and Apparated to the Ministry. 

Jill was there. Her head in her hands, she sat in the reception area outside of her office. Dimly lit and empty of most of its workers, the light of the ministry's fourth floor cast shadows over her worn face streaked with tears. 

Sirius folded her into his arms desperately striving to be the strong one here. 

He wasn't, but Dumbledore was. He was strong for both of them. 

"You two take a moment. I'll pop on down the hall to speak to Arthur." Dumbledore hobbled away, leaving Sirius and Jill to each other, and their tears, and their grief. 

***

Draco was unprepared for what greeted his eyes as he rode into camp. It was the most perverse and evil thing he had seen, in a span of eighteen years that had offered him the opportunity to view a great many disturbing and base things. He strove to remain unaffected. 

Swarms of children, no more than the age of seven, carried weapons of war and destruction. All were neatly rowed and stared blankly forward as if they were waiting for the command to breathe. They were more imp or demon than anything human. Just at the surface of this horde lay the lust for blood that would drive them forward into the destruction of many—many, including themselves. This is what Lucy had described to him. 

He had remained in a suspended reality, knowing in the back of his mind that his father was capable of many things...but not this. It was a hard reality to grasp that creatures of this nature could be manufactured. God help us all if there was no way to stop them, Draco thought. 

He had been unaffected, standing in front of what everyone claimed to be the most evil presence in half a decade, unaffected when his father had murdered in front of him at the age of nine, strove to remain unaffected when he heard of his mother's death and nearly went mad at the sight of Lucy, dead and bleeding, alone in an impersonal cell. It was not possible to have a shred of unaffectedness cover his astonishment here. It bled through and through as he rode past rank after rank of these sad, pain-ridden, anger driven creatures. 

And something else overwhelmed him in that instant: fear. He feared that he would not be able to aid Galahad and Isaiah in the way that they were counting on him to. How could he stop this? He wasn't even aware that something this evil could exist on earth. There didn't seem to be a chance in hell that this could end with him. 

"There is a perfectly good reason as to why you've returned on your own and you are going explain it right now," his father said from off to his left. 

Draco spotted him moving through the ranks of his fabricated army. "I know I promised that I would not question the existence or non-existence of your sanity, father, but what is this?" he asked with an expansive sweep of his hand. 

Lucius smiled. "One of my most colorful plans, you have to admit."

Draco nodded. "That I do."

"Yet, they surprise you?" Lucius said, holding the reigns of Draco's horse while he dismounted. 

"They're children. Ravenclaw and Gryffindor have armies of men," Draco began, knowing fully well what these children-not-children were capable of. "Are you sure that there is a way to control them, or will you just unleash them indiscriminately?"

Lucius smiled. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Draco said nothing. He allowed a scout in Slytherin colors to take his horse. 

"Where are the other two?" Lucius asked in a warning tone. 

It began to snow in that instant. Draco looked up at the flakes and noted them as somewhat surreal. How could it snow when the fires of fury and conflict hundreds of years old were blazing, roaring up around him. "They're dead," he answered. 

"I trust that it was not by your hands that they met their end, or you would not have come back?" Lucius said. 

Draco followed him to a tent where they continued. "I would not have, no."

"This is starting very soon. And it will end just as quickly, Draco. They cannot possibly match this," he said, indicating the ranks he commanded. On top of his very unusual and cruel army, the Slytherin Legion was in full production, taking stock of trebuchets and other implements of destruction to be employed once range of the castle was close enough. 

Draco guessed that his father was banking on using the child army to push the ranks of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw back, hemming them in along the castle wall and the cliff that surrounded the other three sides. The walls would no doubt be heavily defended. The siege engines and the Slytherin Legion would be all that was needed to bring the castle to its knees by then, allowing for his father and Eowyn to march right in and slaughter the inhabitants. 

When Draco was younger, and then on into his school years, he was taught never to question his father. But he had always wondered in secret what his father's extensive studies in military tactics of Rome, Byzantium, and the Middle Ages and of present day would ever bring him. The answer was clear now: it would bring him an empire. 

He was deep in thought. 

"Once Eowyn's victory is secured, we may set to the task of opening my universe," Lucius said as a squire no older than Draco busied himself strapping armor to him. Lucius stood, arms raised, oblivious to the task, as if it was a natural occurrence in daily life. "Draco? Are you listening to me?"

Draco blinked and came back to the conversation. "What does she gain from this bargain?"

Lucius stared at his son. "She wants to see the houses of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw fall. She wants to be personally responsible for their fall." 

"And then what? You trust her to come through on her end? That doesn't sound much like you, father."

"She will leave this world with you and me," Lucius said. "She has no more interest in these lands once her enemies have perished from them."

Draco smirked. "An exchange of one whore for another."

"Women have their uses, Draco. There is no point in being chivalrous. You do not wear it well. Someday you will learn. But I will have to discipline you severely if you ever call her a whore again. The Lady Eowyn is an exception to the rule," Lucius said warningly. 

Draco said nothing, watching as his father was strapped and plated. As the breastplate was lowered over his head, Draco noticed something briefly that he had never seen before, a silver chain from the end of which dangled a silver amulet in the shape of the Dark Mark, the mark of the Legion of Slytherin. It was no more than the size of a Knut. He only saw it briefly and wanted to shoot a scathing comment about the gaudiness of such a gift, no doubt from Ewoyn, but didn't have the chance. It was covered by the breastplate that the squire was now tying into place. He wasn't even sure that his father had seen him studying it. 

"Do you wish to go into battle in nothing but that?" Lucius asked him as the squire finished and moved away presently. "They have archers, you know."

"Yes, I can't move in armor. And besides, you look as poncy as all hell in it yourself." He eyed his father with an arched brow. 

The squire returned presently with Lucius' horse and two more helped to place his foot in the stirrup. Draco marveled at his father. He knew that it wasn't easy to move around fully armored, even for an experienced knight. He vaguely wondered how much time his father had spent back in 1352 to gain such an ease with the cumbersome equipment. 

"Mount and follow me to the rear, son. You can watch efficiency at its greatest height," Lucius offered wistfully.

Draco said nothing but mounted his horse and headed to the rear. 

At the sound of his father's voice, Draco watched as the child army moved down into the valley and up to the slope to meet the armies of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, the Slytherin Legion immediately behind them. 

It would start now. There was no way to foresee an ending. For Draco's part, he wasn't sure if it should be quick or slow. He was still unsure as to how he could stop it. 

There was a fleeting moment of panic in him as he realized that he could not stop what would happen. 

***

"Harry?" Lucy said. 

"Hmm?" Harry answered, riding beside her. 

Lucy gave him a tentative look which he didn't return. She didn't know whether he was angry at her, or at Ginny, or if he just had a lot on his mind. She pulled the small silk bag from her robes. It had been attached to her Time-Turner but she had taken it off and stored it in her cloak when the charm had been fixed. 

She squeezed it finally, as if to glean the strength to be honest. 

"You take this," she said, handing him the small parcel. 

He furrowed his brow and blinked. "What is it?" 

"The last of Imogen," Lucy said, swallowing hard. "There's one left."

He took it reluctantly and tucked it inside of his cloak. She knew he had caught the significance. "Why do you want me to keep them?"

"Because. I told you that there were no more…I don't know. I thought that you were angry at me for tricking you for so long. I wanted to show you that I wouldn't pretend to be someone else anymore. But…I couldn't give them up…give her up…There was always the thought in the back of my mind that I would need them, need to have the use of my legs." Lucy looked ahead of them where Maren and Balthamos rode. 

They crossed the river. 

"Like now, for instance," Harry said, striving to keep the scathing tones from escaping. He wanted to feel betrayed, lied to, but he also wanted to forgive immediately. He knew the reasons she had. If it came down to absolute truth, he would probably have done the same thing. 

Lucy nodded guiltily. 

"What if you need the last one and I'm not there?" Harry said. "This is probably not the kind of place that's easy to get around in for…"

"For people like me…for paralytics…cripples?" Lucy asked, almost a whisper. 

"Well, yes, actually," Harry said. 

She stared at him. He was being so patronizing. "Look, I know that something happened between you and Ginny. I don't want to know details. Nor do I want to be brought into it. But I don't want you to take it out on me either. I know what I did was wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't want to lie to you. So, forgive me and get over it."

He didn't look at her, but he could feel her glare. "Have you ever not gotten your way? How is it that the fact that you're a spoiled little girl who thinks everything should be handed to her just because she asks for it escaped my notice?"

"That is the most illogical thought I have ever heard in my life, Harry," she said reasonably. 

"Oh, so now I'm dumb?" he barked.

Maren glanced back briefly and then sat up a little straighter and engaged Balthamos in a tactical strategies discussion. 

"I'm not arguing against the case," she said, correcting his grip on his horse's reigns. 

Harry jerked his hands away from her, irritated by the inferior treatment he was receiving. 

"And you say I'm the brat," she yelled. 

"Well…if the fabulously expensive shoe fits," he countered, narrowing his eyes. 

She stared at him in wide open astonishment. "You're being ridiculous. I'm not talking to you until you learn some manners and respect."

"Oh, please." Harry leaned forward in his saddle. "That's what I need: more lessons from the politeness police." He glared. "Don't call me names, Harry. That's rude, you know," he mocked in an affected tone, meant to be Lucy's voice. 

She narrowed her eyes, reminding Harry a lot of her brother. "Grow up, Harry!" She spurred her horse forward to join Maren and Balthamos. 

Maren endeavored to hide a snigger. Lucy glared at her as well. 

"Is it likely that the way to the monastery will be watched?" Maren asked Balthamos to lighten the atmosphere. 

"We shall see. We are walking in there with little knowledge; assured that there are those of the order that will help us. How many are there against us within those holy walls? We cannot be sure. Even the Lord Mungo did not have an answer to satisfy that end," Balthamos said ominously. 

Lucy listened intently beside him, trying to ignore Harry who brought up the rear, alone and sulking. 

When they passed the castle of Hufflepuff, once in the hands of the Slytherin Legions, now seemingly abandoned, Maren turned to Lucy and then to Harry. "It is important that your insignificant feud is laid aside for the time. We are facing unknown opposition. This will be a task that decides the outcome of much. I need your full attention and cooperation." 

She waited for both of them to nod their consent, which they both did reluctantly. 

Lucy held her breath as they passed the outer walls, vaguely expecting to hear a cry from within—a cry that would announce the futility of her efforts with Claire. But who would cry for them once they were gone? Who would know? Who would be there to discover them first? Faramir? 

Lucy closed her eyes for a moment, suppressing the hot tears that she felt welling up behind her eyelids as she thought of it. Imagining it was like watching the scene at Ravenclaw's castle in Ireland over again. She saw vividly the pain that she'd caused her brother when he found her body there, lifeless. He had wept for her, for the loss of her. She knew Faramir would weep for his family. He would mourn them as Draco had mourned her…but they would not come back. And she could do nothing to stop it…she, who had had precious knowledge of the disaster. But Claire would not listen to her. 

"Wait here," Balthamos urged, bringing Lucy back to the present with a start. They were at the monastery now. 

She blinked and shook her head, clearing her mind, readying herself for her task. 

Harry's horse came to stand next to hers, but he said nothing. 

Maren and Balthamos dismounted and with hands to hilt of sword, they approached the front entrance of the modest building. 

Lucy craned her neck in an effort to watch the proceedings. 

A monk in dark cassock and hood opened the door, expressionless. 

Maren spoke with a bow which was returned perfunctorily. 

The hands came from the hilts: no danger as of yet. They were invited in. 

Lucy dropped lightly from her stirrups to the ground, followed less agilely by Harry. Lucy smiled to herself. He was trying to hide the fact that he was becoming weary of riding. 

Presently, Balthamos returned to them and said, "All is well. Brother Daniel will help us," indicating the fidgeting and nervous looking monk at the door. 

Harry dropped the reins of his horse and walked off behind Balthamos. 

Lucy said nothing, but hurriedly tied both horses securely up and followed as well. 

***

Out across the snowy expanse, becoming even more of a perfect day if it weren't for the horrendous battle going on just across the plain, Ginny watched the proceedings. 

As she held an artery closed on a bleeding Gryffindor Infantryman, Mungo working as fast as his skilled hands could allow him to work, she listened to the clanging and crashing and taunting and screaming: the sounds lost by all accounts of history: the sounds of medieval warfare. 

There were one or two waves of Slytherin infantrymen that had matched with the Ravenclaw archers. Most of the wounded being pulled from the battlefields had injuries from arrows. The real battle had not yet begun. 

She turned her attention to aiding Mungo. She tried not to look into the pleading eyes of the soldier that was fast slipping from consciousness.

Mungo was absorbed in his work, she marveled at the humanity of the man. She knew that this much pain and death must hurt him as much as it was hurting her. Yet, he was composed, diligent, silent unless to dispatch instructions to her or Azria. She briefly thought that one day, if she was very lucky, she might resemble this incredible person in even the slightest of ways.

She caught the anguished look of the dying man. "Angel," he said, coughing blood. 

She continued to squeeze the artery together, her grip slipping in all of the blood. "Don't speak," she said gently. 

"I have a daughter, her name is," he coughed more. Mungo looked to her and shook his head heavily. He wouldn't make it. "Her name is Angelica. She looks like you."

His hand fell from her shoulder and his eyes grew dim. And he died in that moment. 

Ginny had striven to remain professional. He had not been the first to have touched her in his last moments, many had. He was a father who would never see his child, Angelica, again. 

She backed away slowly. Her expression, despite her war with her composure, broke and crumbled and dissolved into the torrents of pain-filled sobs that escaped her. Wiping his blood from her hands to the front of her dress, she turned and slowly walked past the monks that continued to bring more and more wounded to them. 

She couldn't handle one more death. It seemed as though the moment she touched them their life, fragile and clinging by the barest thread, ebbed away altogether. 

She fell to her knees to the sound of a priest nearby delivering the last rights to yet another soul on its way to eternity. 

Then all was quiet. 

The battle cries had stopped. There was a void where all noise had been before. 

She looked up urgently and saw an eerie and heart-sickening sight. 

On the ridge, moving in on the Gryffindor Infantry, the Ravenclaw Infantry, the Ravenclaw archers behind them and finally the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor cavalry, a fathomless sea of the most ghastly-looking creatures Ginny had ever laid eyes on. But they were children—or at least they once had been, the children that had been kidnapped for several months throughout Europe in her own time. Lucius Malfoy had created a killing machine of innocents. 

And the effect on the infantry and those that built up the ranks behind them was ingenious: they gaped in fear and disbelief as Ginny herself was doing. Yet, for them, they could not afford one moment of hesitation. Ginny saw the double value in such a force, though she had not Lucius Malfoy's military education. The troops of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were built on the principles of chivalry. They would no sooner attack these children than they would turn and attack her. They stood struck, in awe, and prone to be mowed down in a neat procession of blood and violence that would not be as kind as to bestow the same discrimination that had been bestowed upon them. These children were programmed to destroy. They would kill even if it came to their own destruction. Lucy had told her that they had undergone a removal of their souls by Dementors. They were hollow and lifeless, mechanical. They wanted blood and Lucius Malfoy would give it to them. The thought sent a wracking shudder down her entire body as she knelt there. 

But where despair sets a foot in the door, the twin promise of hope and faith in humanity will also enter. 

She knelt in the snow, the blood that was covering her front making a stain on the blanket of white. She hardly took a breath, afraid she would miss his words. 

Galahad Ravenclaw was charging to the middle of the field. The silence on both sides could be cut with the edge of a knife so palpable it was. 

"Knights and warriors of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw!" he said, wheeling his horse, and turning to ride down the lines of his troops and that of Isaiah's. She saw Isaiah and Faramir at the head of them. "I have been warned of this force. It is the basest and cruelest of deeds. They were children," he rode between his own army and the advancing hordes of the destructive creatures. "They are no more. It is a ruse of the highest order. The Lady of Slytherin and her House are capable of this and more. Do not be fooled. They will not stop until we are no more. We must fight. And some of us will die. But die with me brothers if it must come to that. Is our freedom worth at least this much? Is it worth the fight and death to have a free and honest world, a world in which we can live without fear of the predations of the dark and the evil upon our lives, upon the lives of our children?" He wheeled wildly again, all the while the advancing of the enemy bore down on him. "Evil ends here, today, with you and with me." He stabbed his sword in the direction of the feared advancement. "Are you with me, brothers, men of the House of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw?"

There arose a great cry that stirred Ginny's heart. She became dizzy for lack of breath, so captivating was the speech that Galahad had made. His men had rallied to the cause that would be fought again and again and yet has not been won. Many would give there lives to end the oppression of dark, evil and ambitious people everywhere. Ginny warmed in the snow and wind swirling around her to think that she might witness a significant victory for that cause today, and she had known the man that had stirred the hearts of many into making the ultimate sacrifice for that cause. 

Galahad Ravenclaw would forevermore remain synonymous with the cause of righteous freedom for Ginny. 

As the armies were nearly on top of one another, she heard Isaiah Gryffindor's command and a great cry from the men on the battle field, "_Irruo__!"_

She knew just enough Latin for her heart to leap at the sound of it shouted over hundreds of armed men: Charge!

***

            Draco sat at a distance from the conflict, but not too far off that he didn't catch the words of a truly noble soul, coming from the mouth of a warrior poet. Galahad's speech moved him to do something more. He was on the wrong side, but for once he was for the cause of right. There was a stirring in his heart at this realization that he had never felt before and it was intoxicating and crippling all at once. 

                His father, on the black steed at his left, made a barb something like, "Idealistic martyr."

                Draco would have called him a "noble inspirer," but he wouldn't waste the energy in arguing his father's misjudgment in the Lord of Ravenclaw. His words had incensed the people of the land to fight for it, for what was right. That was power that his father wasn't used to dealing with. 

                He ignored his father's pompous postulations and poniards. He was busy making calculations in his head. Of Gryffindor, there consisted about five hundred infantry and about three hundred heavy-horse. Ravenclaw had about two hundred and fifty infantry at most, one hundred archers, four hundred heavy-horse. There was no doubt about it, the strength and saving grace of that force would lie in its cavalry. 

                He turned to his father and observed him with mounting hatred. He sat loftily upon his mount in his glittering display of armor and arrogance and gleamed satisfaction in his smile, in his air, in the very presence of him. 

                Draco wanted to knock him from his horse and beat the smug smile from his lips. He restrained his emotions. 

                The force of children was deployed first, confusing and faltering the chivalrous Ravenclaw and Gryffindor armies. Lucius had counted on this. He had not counted on someone to pull them back together after being so disconcerted. Galahad had done this and much more. 

                As the arrows flew through the air, striking many of the children down as they charged the battle ground, many more took their places and clashed with the Gryffindor infantry out front. 

                Draco was working rapidly through scenarios in which he could get away from his father without arousing his suspicion. He needed to reach either Isaiah, Galahad, Faramir or Sir Guy, leader of cavalry. 

                Impatient for a quick victory, Lucius called for the first group of the Slytherin Legion to assemble. It was a detachment of about one hundred, a small challenge to a force as large as the one they opposed. But highly effective as every one of the infantry were occupied with this new and deadly onslaught of ravenous child-like demon-warriors. It was an opportunity of which Draco could not have hoped to fashion on his own. 

                "I will lead them, father," Draco said, spurring his horse forward, praying his father would see it as a token of his victory-affirmed loyalty. And he had. 

                Lucius smiled. "I am gratified to find you so eager to take an active part in my grand scheme, Draco. But perhaps—."

                "No, father, I want to lead them into battle." Draco was adamant, hoping that his eyes and face expressed an urgent appeasement and eagerness to prove his worth to his father. 

                Lucius considered this for a moment. "You have no armor. But…you have been trained," he agreed. 

                "I have been trained by the best," Draco flattered. 

                "Very well, the task falls to you," Lucius conceded, highly gratified, looking more proud of Draco than Draco had ever deserved in his life. 

                He nodded and charged to the head of the line. Once the detachment was formed, they made quick work of the bloody field, trampling the fallen in battle along the way. It couldn't be helped though Draco was sorry for it. 

                He broke from his detachment and blended, finding Galahad in raged conflict with three small children with the strength and determination to kill of several caged and hungry tigers. Draco rushed directly into the fray. 

                Fighting these odd creatures of his father's creation was very unsettling. Blood red eyes and a mouth salivating for a kill, these children were the embodiment of hell, for hell could not have produced creatures more fearsome or powerful. 

                "Divide the force," Draco yelled to Galahad, moving in a tight circle on his horse, swinging down hard on a small boy that drooled and sneered and swiped at him with a scimitar that ought to have been far too big for him to wield. 

                "Divide?" Galahad yelled in return, parrying two small hungry creatures. 

                "Yes. Have the cavalry ride," Draco shouted. 

                "We mustn't divide. Our strength is in our numbers."

                Draco ducked. The scimitar in the hand of the child, buried itself deep in the neck of his horse, causing him to topple to the ground. He rolled clear of the dead animal, only to be pinned to the ground by a blond child with an eerie grin and a mace. Kicking off from the child as it swung back to bludgeon him, Draco rolled clear and to his feet. Before he'd had a chance to assess his situation, Faramir cleanly severed the attacking child's head from its body. Draco nodded his thanks and turned to Galahad. 

                "Do it and let my father see you do it," Draco said, heaving gasping breaths of air. Despite the cold, his silver-blond hair was plastered to his forehead. "He will send his Slytherin Legion after them. His forces divided will be weaker than yours. We could win here if the cavalry took the Legion out of the way."

                Galahad thought this over. Swinging and ducking and fighting, he thought through the consequences and saw it as Draco did. A feinted retreat would fool the commander of the Slytherin forces into false security of a victory. Without the Legion, they could not win against the numbers of the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor infantry. He scanned the torrent of battle, looking for Sir Guy above them all. He was just there, with the cavalry, awaiting the signal to charge. Instead, Galahad gave him the signal for retreat, with a gesture to make it clear that it was a feint. 

                Sir Guy nodded his understanding. Immediately the cavalry retreated from the field. 

                Draco turned to see his father's reaction. It was as he had guessed. He divided the Legion from the child army. They took off after the cavalry. A retreat was insult. He was after annihilation. Draco knew his father far too well. 

                He turned immediately to disarm another scimitar-wielding child, severing its arm from its body. It switched hands and hacked away at a wounded Slytherin soldier that was bleeding the snow red under foot. 

***

                "I know not of the atrocities and heresies you speak," Brother Daniel said, arms folded into the sleeves of his cassock. 

                He was leading them into the deepest annals of the monastic complex. Lucy was sure that this was where they had taken Gabriel. 

                There was a fevered scream from a chamber down the hall of a dripping underground passage. 

                Lucy looked to Maren who looked to Balthamos. There was a zing as all swords were drawn. The door to the room was barred but the screams, pleading, anguished cries never subsided or abated or grew fainter from the solid oak of the door. 

                This was apparently a secret operation, of which very few people knew. 

                Lucy guessed that behind that door would be Gabriel and Eowyn, accompanied by the one guard that had borne Gabriel from the now vacant and prone castle of Hufflepuff. Who knows what other resistance they would meet within?

                The monk that had led them here had been one of only two besides the Abbot that had been left to attend the monastery. All others were on the battlefield caring for the wounded. Brother Daniel had seemed timid when Lucy had first laid eyes on him. Now he seemed to quail in an almost manic state.  

                "Thank you, Brother," Maren said, veiling the apprehension that lit her face. "We no longer wish to detain you from your duties, you have been exceedingly helpful."

                Brother Daniel bowed and backed away from the door. 

                "Balthamos," Maren commanded, "the door, knock it down."

                This command would have been impossible for any Muggle that did not immediately have the disposal of a battering ram. Balthamos bowed and removed his wand, nonplussed by the request. 

                In a firm and commanding voice he performed the incantation that made quick work of the solid oak. 

                Inside were hardly more individuals than Lucy had expected. That was not what caused her to grasp the hilt of her own sword with such ferocity that it turned her knuckles white. 

                Ignoring the putrid smell of blood, burning flesh and tangible pain that hung in the air, Maren and Balthamos moved deftly into the room, not allowing the lone Slytherin guard the time to draw his own weapon. 

                As Lucy followed Harry into the room, she felt the sickeningly familiar plunge of freezing water over her heart. There was only one thing that produced cold that so penetrated to the bone that effectively. 

                A dementor. 

                There was only one. It was small, for the man that had brought it into being was still alive, no longer conscious, but alive. 

                Lucy thought she might be sick, grabbing Harry's arm to steady herself. He reached out and grasped her elbow to right her. 

                So, this was the birth of the dementors, she thought? She imagined that it might involve something as gruesome as what she now saw in front of her. 

                The man, a boy really, in a torn monk's cowl, bloodied into an unrecognizable smear of reddish brown, lay on a low table separating Eowyn from the intruders. 

                Balthamos had the guard disarmed with the tip of his sword on the man's neck, begging him to make one move. The guard looked like he hadn't moved in sometime. As big as an ox and probably twice as strong, the man was frozen to the spot, dazed by what must have been a brutal torture session, the likes of which a man even his size and constitution could not bear. 

                A man in a corner, cowering from the screams of one of his "brothers," in grander robes than the man on the table, demarcated him clearly as the turn-coat Abbot Marcus. He had apparently no clue what he had gotten himself into when he had agreed to serve as the front to Eowyn's evil empire. 

                And lying on the floor, huddled peacefully in a chemical sleep of some form or another was Gabriel. 

                There was a moment of limbo, in which the newcomers took in every nightmarish detail, in which one small sob escaped Lucy for the poor monk that lay tortured, mutilated and bleeding, in which everyone regained their self-composure from the weak dementor, in which all was explained. 

                Eomer had ceased his universal shift theories when it became evident that the only means of achieving such a universe would be through dark magic of the blackest sort. His father had caught onto the concept, despite the sabotage that his son had perpetrated to stop him. 

                Salazar Slytherin had created dementors for the purpose of opening the lock to his new dominion, free of Muggles and do-good wizarding taint—the same ambition that Lucius Malfoy sought. 

                He had used one sacrifice, mercilessly tortured, their pain giving birth to pain incarnate: dementors. As the sacrifice slipped from life in a torment-filled spiral that most people are blessed never to have to experience physically, the dementor would gain strength, becoming immortal, for pain is immortal. 

                The dementor is necessary because it is the means in which the soul of a child is severed, a chosen child with particular characteristics: coming from the time of the opening of the universal door, sinless, breeding pain in its purest form, rents a tear in the fabric of time and space that cries out for the injustice of a blameless soul that takes on the pain, sin and shame of the full-of-blame. 

                The universe opened is a green field: a tabula rasa: a slate clean and full of promise. It is full of promise for corruption and wrong, the type of wrong bred in those that could achieve its opening to begin with. So much pain and wrong had gone into the creating of this new and expansive world ready for blackening, that it could be inhabitable only by those that could walk into it free of the guilt of so much pain for selfish ends. 

                The Bible had a name for a place like this: hell. The Greeks called it Hades—the underworld, a dark kingdom of corruption, sin, perversions of all types of wrong. 

                Maren, Balthamos, Lucy and Harry were all that stood in the way of a door that would soon be opened wide to hell. Salvation from such a place rested with these four. 

                Eowyn, raising the bloody knife that she had used to flay the man while he was still conscious plunged it into the faintly beating heart.  He was bound and prone and helpless and, in an instant, dead. 

                Lucy's knees buckled. 

                She had thought for a moment that her Polyjuice Potion pills were giving out. But there was none of the back pain that usually accompanies the change. 

                Harry knew what it was, he felt it too. The dementor had been granted full strength with the last beat of the dying man's heart. 

                He heard the screaming, his mother's pleading voice. The cold broke over him like an immense and forceful wave. 

                Lucy lurched forward, playing over and over the moment when her brother had tried to end his own life three and a half years ago. It took all of her resolve, determination and strength to overcome the sinking, plunging feeling and rise to her feet. She did it with minimal help from Harry. 

                The cold and despair seemed to grip Maren and Balthamos as well. Both struggled to remain standing. 

                They only needed that one second of opportunity to present itself. Eowyn lunged over the table and the dead man at Maren. 

                The guard regained himself and overtook Balthamos, pushing him backward, drawing his own sword in challenge. 

                The dementor found the despair of the younger two, Lucy and Harry, irresistible and advanced on them first, giving the others a chance to defend themselves. 

                Harry removed his wand. He hadn't had to use this particular incantation in so long now…since fifth year. He remembered it well. 

                The dementor advanced. He shoved Lucy behind him. 

                _"Expecto Patronum!" he said. _

                And the dementor advanced. 

                Harry pushed panic down. He had to get a hold over his memories. Fifth year held no fond memories for him, dwelling on the horrors of that time only fueled the dementor's need for them. 

                Lucy took his hand. It was icy in his. But it was a reminder that she was right behind him. She was always behind him. And that was his fondest memory, the happiest he had ever been, learning that she had survived the events of Ravenclaw's castle last summer. She was here, with him, alive. 

                _"Expecto Patronum!" he shouted again. _

                Maren was ducking and dodging and kicking, striking Ewoyn with mastered blows. She was a good three inches shorter and definitely in possession of a gentler spirit that Eowyn, but Maren could fight. 

                Eowyn knew this. She knew she couldn't win with Maren. She was trained to handle a sword by Galahad, himself a legend on the battlefield. 

                Blocking Maren's assault weakly with her right hand, Eowyn produced her wand with the left, shouting to Maren a promise: "You have not seen the last of the line of Slytherin."

                Eowyn disappeared as Maren reigned down a swing that would have proved deadly. 

                Blathamos was holding his own with the guard. They parried and moved around the table, putting the dead monk between himself and the guard. 

                Maren rushed to the Abbot who cowered, inching along the wall for Eowyn's discarded sword. 

                He stood, confidently grasping the sword in his hands, shattering his vow as a monk never to bear arms against any human. 

                Maren was more than equal to the task of an untrained and frightened monk. As he was, she would not waste any penance in spilling his blood. She drove him back hard, quickly stepping, tiring the monk. 

                The incantation was weak. There was only the faintest of a Patronus. Harry pushed Lucy back, retreating. They were backing precariously against a wall. 

                 Maren drove the Abbot back into the dementor in the same moment. The dementor lurched forward and stumbled, nearly falling on Harry. It righted itself and turned, seizing the man who sniveled and sobbed, frightened as he had the right to be. The dementor slowly lowered his hood with one scabby hand. 

                Balthamos drove the guard back until he stumbled into the large grate of the fire, setting him aflame. 

                Brother Daniel, who had lingered in the hallway, picked Gabriel up and removed him from the threat of the room and the combat that ensued within. 

                "We must to the chapel," Maren said, rushing out of the room behind the others. The four of them plus Brother Daniel with Gabriel ran full out for the entrance of the monastery and the escape from the dementor that would not be satisfied with the vacant soul of the Abbot. 

***

                "I must to the chapel in great haste," Azria said, throwing a letter that she had just received in the mouth of a gray owl to the ground, gabbing her cloak up from its spot, discarded. 

                She grabbed a horse that strayed from the battlefield and mounted, turning to Mungo. "They have succeeded. They have the child, but he is in some sort of sleep that they cannot wake him from. I must help them."

                Mungo stepped away from the scout he had cared for. "The ride is too dangerous. Let me go instead, Azria."

                "I will go, brother. Stay with Virginia and help the wounded. Do not worry for me," Azria said with an appeasing but sad smile. 

                Mungo nodded. "Then go with speed and may God protect you and bring you back safe to me."

                "May God protect you too, brother," Azria said, leaning to kiss his forehead and then she was off, riding full out for the stand of trees and the chapel about a kilometer from that. 

                He watched her with worry until she disappeared over a rise and was gone. Then Mungo turned his eyes on the battle. He was no military man, but he knew that the cavalry dividing and running from the fray would spell doom. He said a hurried prayer for his friends and then watched as even the monks, pulling the dead free from the battle were attacked by the impish killers that darted everywhere along the expanse of red snow.

                "Stay to tend to the rest of the wounded here," he said, moving toward the conflict. "I must help my brothers in the field."

                Ginny shook her head and turned to the monk that had healed alongside of her. "Tend the rest, I go with Mungo."

                Mungo looked as though he wanted to say something, to make her return to the relative safety of the medic area. There was no time. He had to get to the dying. He removed his wand and Ginny did the same beside him. 

                They split up, covering large areas of bloodied, wounded and dead soldiers of every side. Ginny ducked a child that swung at her, eyes wide with the power of the swing. She had no weapon to defend herself. The man at her feet was dying, but she was being kept from him by this demon with glowing eyes. 

                Faramir rushed to her aid and stood guard by her, fighting off attacks while she moved from one person to the next, doing what she could for them. Coming across any of the Legion of Slytherin, she charmed them into unconsciousness, not allowing for them to gain the strength to fight against her friends again. They would be alive but out of action. 

                She heard the monstrous and angry beats of hoofs but hadn't the time to look up. 

                Lucius Malfoy had seen her among the wounded and had charged the field to end her. 

                Faramir, occupied by the onslaught of several wild little killers, could do nothing about this new threat without giving the others an opportunity to attack her. She had to take her chances with Lucius on her own. 

                She stood and brandished her wand in bloody hand, trembling. 

                Lucius dismounted his horse slowly, giving her time to catch her breath. The metallic zing as he unsheathed his sword shook the frigid air. 

                Ginny couldn't slow her breathing. 

                His smile was terrifying, the dangerous glint in his eyes crippling. 

                In a flash he brought his sword down on her forcing her to leap clear, landing on a dead Gryffindor scout, eviscerated, his bowels hanging gruesomely out. 

                Between blows, Faramir blocked Lucius as well, allowing Ginny to get unsteadily to her feet. 

                She had grabbed the dead man's sword, but it was heavy and unwieldy and Lucius wore armor that would prove any blow she was able to deal him ineffectual. 

                Faramir returned to his own conflict leaving Ginny to parry Lucius' blows clumsily, driving her backward stumbling with every swing. 

                Ginny swung in a wide, unsteady arc. One swing from Lucius' sword had knocked her to the ground again. Slowly, smiling, he forced the edge of his sword into the frozen ground next to her after cutting the straps of his leg plates free so the he could kneel. 

                He bent over her, trapping her legs underneath his, slowly wrapping his graceful hands around her neck.

                She thrashed about and tried to kick and scratched at his face violently. Faramir was well off, a horde of children bearing down on him. 

                Her vision began to swim as she tried to gain a hold on anything. She pulled at the collar of his breast plate and scratched at his neck. She was dizzying, blinking back tears, gasping. 

                "I spared you before because you had been helpful and I had hoped that my son could persuade you to join my cause. You are valuable to me. But I am resigned now to merely killing you. You have interfered in my schemes far too much, Miss Weasley, Virginia," he explained, kissing her forehead, moving a hand from her neck to her cheek, faintly admiring the graceful curves of her soft face contorted in terror. 

                She scratched and tried to kick and tore at his neck, grasping something inside of his breastplate as he bent to kiss her. As he jerked his neck out of her grasp at last, that something broke. It was the link of a chain he wore inside of his armor. She was pleased that it might have cut his neck. 

                At least she would have the satisfaction of causing him the smallest amount of pain before she died, for all the pain he had caused her, Draco, Lucy, Harry. 

                But the wind picked up in a supernatural way when the link in the chain had given. There was a great shuddering cry as the wind swept the battlefield, and Lucius still kept his grasp on her neck, squeezing. 

                The children that had been detaining Faramir dropped in mid swing. They lay lifeless on the ground with the other dead. They had been freed of their bondage, they had died. The chain must have been what kept them linked to him, their souls housed in it, to command them. They were free now, Ginny thought fuzzily as Lucius jerked her head forward and banged it against the frozen solid ground. 

                There was a great cry of anger from somewhere that Ginny could not see. Lucius had lurched forward as he raised a hand to strike her on the face, tearing her lip open. 

                He cried out in pain and released his grip on her. She gasped and rolled clear of him. 

                He had reached for his wand but stumbled and dropped it. 

                Ginny looked up gasping to see who had attacked him, she saw a gaping tear in the metal of the back of his breastplate. He must have had broken ribs from the blow, Ginny thought. Draco reigned down powerful and furious swings on him not allowing him to get to his feet, knocking his wand from his grasp and stepping on it, snapping it in two. 

                Lying bloodied and in surrender on the ground, Lucius looked up angrily at his son. "What are you waiting for, you sad disappointment? Kill me."

                It was all the invitation that Draco needed. 

                He raised his sword—

                "Draco, no," Ginny gasped, pulling herself up into a sitting position. 

                He stopped mid swing. He would have killed his father had she not spoken. He would not have done it in front of her, begging him not to. 

                He threw the sword to the ground, barely audible he said, "Father, I am finished with you."

                Lucius nodded and smiled and passed out of consciousness. 

                He turned to Ginny but could think of nothing to say save to apologize. That was wildly inappropriate considering the situation. She didn't want to hear it anyway. 

                Ginny turned to the dead child next to her. A shuddering sob wracked her as she looked into the hollow eyes of a little girl in sandy blond ringlets, an expression of the deepest relief on her face in death. 

                She bent over the child, cradling her in her arms, weeping for so many. How would the parents of these children ever understand this? She couldn't fathom it herself. 

                "Ginny," Draco said, taking a tentative step forward. 

                Ginny didn't look up but said, "Leave me, Draco."

                He left her in the snow and blood and let her mourn the child in peace. As he turned to his father, terror caused his heart to leap. He was gone, his sword removed from its spot stuck in the ground. He surveyed the landscape, knowing Apparating was not possible without his wand. The land sloped down and into the forest beyond. It was the only way he could have gone.  

                Draco pulled on the reigns of a discarded horse, mounting it, wheeling and heading off after Lucius.

***

                "Virginia?" she heard Faramir call her. 

                She looked up. Her cheeks were tear-stained and her ears were ringing. She felt as if she had spent the entire day in mourning, weeping nonstop for all of the despair and sadness that hung around her. But it was not yet noon. 

                She blinked. Faramir extended a hand to help her to her feet. She took it unsteadily and stood, leaving the sad little girl in the snow and mud. He led her to a place at the edge of the battlefield where she was met with the most difficult sight that she had yet to experience this day. 

                Galahad lie with his sword in one hand, in the other the hand of Mungo, who bent over him, trying to keep him still, a tear in his tunic, along the side indicated his wound. It was a large wound, probably made by one of the scimitars that some of the children had wielded. 

                Sir Guy had just bowed and retreated after informing him of the surrender of the Slytherin Legion to the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw cavalry. Isaiah stood by, clutching his sword in bloody hands, looking on helplessly. 

                Galahad raised his hand from the sword at his side and reached out to Ginny. She kneeled at his side and took his hand in both of hers, kissing it lightly. 

                "Faramir tells me that the downfall of Syltherin's child army is due solely to you." He stopped and clenched his teeth. He must have been in great pain. 

                "Hush," Ginny said placing a hand on his forehead. "Do not trouble yourself, Galahad. You fought bravely. Rest now."

                Galahad closed his eyes momentarily. "I have you to thank for our victory. Look out over that field, lady."

                A tear fell from her cheek and onto his hand. She turned and surveyed the devastation. She could not have dreamt of such a place: pin-cushioned with arrows, dead soldiers as far as she could see, a monk here and there administering last rites. 

                "It has ended with you." He dropped her hand and raised his to touch her cheek. "You have saved us all. And I honor you, Virginia." With the last vestiges of his strength he lifted his sword and presented it to her. He clenched his teeth again in pain. 

                "Be still, brother," Mungo said. "I cannot save you, but I can spare you pain." Ginny met his eyes and knew what he would do. She wanted to stop him, but it would be an insult to his dedication to his friend. Such healing was rare. Mungo had the gift to heal with his hands. A wand was never needed, but at a great cost. His energy was leaving him and he would die soon too. But he would rather die with Galahad. 

                Ginny clutched Gahalad's sword to her and watched Mungo place a hand on his dying friend's chest, just where his heart was, beating ever weaker. He took one last breath and died with Galahad, taking the last of his suffering upon himself. Ginny watched as they both died. 

                She shuddered and sobbed and Faramir bent down to hold her as her grief was more than she could bear alone. Isaiah stood watching the scene with detached anger and grief. He wanted blood for the loss of the best friends he had ever known. 

                "It is over," Faramir said to her. "Be still child. All is done."

                It was another moment before Ginny could speak. She looked up and Isaiah was gone. "We must not let him go off in anger. He will not avenge them by dying today," Ginny gasped. 

                She stood and lifted Galahad's sword. Faramir stood too. They ran in the direction that they saw Isaiah speeding away on horse back with a fury.   

***

                Maren wrote to Azria immediately. They had left the monastery and were heading east toward the chapel in the woods that would one day give way to the village of Hogsmeade. 

                Balthamos held Gabriel in front of him, carefully guiding his horse through the narrowing pathways. 

                Lucy bit her lip, wondering, after all of that, whether Claire had been able to warn her family. Then she thought she would never know. They had saved Gabriel and were on their way to the chapel where Azria would make Gabriel well enough to go home… and then they would leave 1352 for good. 

                She looked to Balthamos and to Maren. She had made a friend out of both and she would be sorry to leave them. She knew, looking over at Harry who was absorbed in thoughts as well, felt the same. He had been silent ever since she had told him of Claire and the fate of the rest of Faramir's family. No doubt he felt the pain Faramir would soon feel acutely. He had lost his family too. He knew Faramir would be devastated. But it seemed as if nothing could be done.  

                The chapel was far grander as she saw it now than the shell of a holy place that it had become in the modern-day village that had forgotten it. It was almost romantic in structure and situation. It seemed easy to be pious when surrounded by the peaceful wood and the lofty arching windows. 

                They tied the horses outside and went in, out of the thickening snow. Now they would wait for Azria to come and see to Gabriel. 

                Balthamos laid the child on the ground where Maren sat and walked slowly to the crucifix that hung in the arch of one grand piece of stained glass. He knelt and prayed. Lucy couldn't begin to know of what the warrior would pray. Thanksgiving that they were able to perform their duty, a prayer for the poor tortured soul of that monk that lay alone in the monastery, or for the lives of the many that were battling evil in its basest form on the battlefield at the moment. 

                Harry knelt beside him and bowed his head as well. 

                With a great sigh that signified the end of her task, Lucy sat down next to Maren and silently hoped that Claire had gotten out despite all. There was an unsettling in her soul that told her that she had not. 

                It was then that she saw it, down the hall, dark and neglected. The passage that her father had used to slip between the twentieth century and the fourteenth, the door was wide open.

                She got to her feet again and looked back: Maren was busy, bent over the child, wiping his fevered forehead dry, Balthamos and Harry had their back turned from her, heads bowed. 

                Lucy turned from the room and made silently for the passage. 

                It was dark and seldom traveled save for her father's tracks and maybe Eowyn's. She followed them, plunging her ever into further darkness. 

                She couldn't have guessed how far she had walked in total blindness, groping along the walls to find her way. She came out where she had expected to, the outer bailey of the Hufflepuff castle. She blinked in the reflected white of the snow. There was smoke all around.  The market that was usually so lively was deserted and nothing more than a ruin of huts and low stone building. 

                There was a huge gap where a siege engine, perhaps a trebuchet, had rent through the wall. It lay in heaps around the still in tact base. She held her breath and moved into the castle proper, now half alight in flame. 

                He was there, standing in front of her smiling an evil smile, hand on the hilt of his sword. 

                "Father," she said hollowly. 

                "Lucilla," he answered. 

                She drew her sword and squeezed the grip with rage. 

                His first swing was surprisingly weak, telling Lucy that he was injured. But even his weakest blows were hard for Lucy to block. She was agile and leapt away from his swings. His breathing was rasping, she noticed as she backed away and backed away, causing him to tire in the heavy armor he wore. It seemed as though his hard breathing was due to an internal injury, perhaps to his lungs. 

                She continued to block and move away and away, never striking, only blocking. 

                Presently, Isaiah came into the room, shouting a curse at Lucius in Occitain. He must have caught the meaning, but Lucy hadn't. 

                He was enraged. Lucy could see it in his eyes. He meant to kill her father.  

                Isaiah pushed past her and delivered a series of blows that drove Lucius back against the large fireplace of the Great Hall. 

                Isaiah's fury was deadly and his accuracy in swings, attacking with both down and back swings, was precise and effective. 

                Lucius ducked, causing Isaiah's sword, the sword of Gryffindor, to send sparks off of the stone wall. 

                A tapestry fell in flames.

                Lucy looked up to see a fire raging and spreading from timber to supporting timber. This place would collapse. 

                She dropped her sword and removed her wand. 

                "Father!" she shouted, taking careful aim at him. 

                Isaiah was also caught off guard by her shouts, turning to look over at her. 

                Lucius saw his opportunity and took it. He sent an elbow into Isaiah's chin, knocking him backward and off of his feet. His head hit the hearth of the fire hard with an audible crack. 

                Lucy gasped as she watched in horror. She had caused it, it was her mistake. 

                Lucius smiled. "Thank you for the distraction, Lucilla." 

                "Father, leave," she said in a shaky but warning voice. 

                Lucius did not move. 

                "I swear to God you'll go straight to hell and I will be the one who sends you there if you do not leave right now!" she shouted furiously. 

                Lucius blinked, disconcerted by the metallic edge to her voice. 

                She took aim. "_Avada__ Kadavra!" she spoke clearly and forcefully. _

                She did not mean the threat she had just voiced. Taking aim just behind him, she missed intentionally. But he did not realize this, ducking quickly to the ground, surprised at her forcefulness. He got unsteadily to his feet and turned, walking slowly away. 

                Lucy didn't replace her wand until she was sure that he had gone.           

                She ran to Isaiah, praying that she had not been the one to kill him. He was unconscious and bleeding. She felt helpless and frightened. The room would give out any moment, coming down around them. But she couldn't leave him and she knew not how to help him. 

                She cried out. A shuddering gasp ripped through her, sending fiery fingers of white hot pain up her spine. "Oh, God!" she whispered. She had left her pills with Harry and the last one she had taken was now wearing off. 

                There was no longer any feeling in her legs. 

                She threw herself over Isaiah's body to keep the ash from falling on him. 

                There was too much smoke. She couldn't even see the way out anymore. Neither of them would get out. 

                "Lucy!" she heard Ginny call, coughing.

                Lucy looked up and blinked. "Ginny!" 

                It was Ginny with Faramir. She dropped to the side of the two and took Isaiah's head in her hands. She felt his neck for a pulse, finding only the weakest one. 

                "I did it…my father…I distracted Isaiah and he hit him. I don't know how to help him," she sobbed. 

                "Faramir," Ginny called. He dropped to her side, a hand covering his mouth from the smoke. "Take Lucy out of here. She can't walk."

                Faramir looked to the unfamiliar little girl in silver-blond ringlets. She resembled Maren now more than ever. 

                He lifted her and she winced and cried out. 

                "What will you do?" he asked Ginny, reluctant to leave her here. 

                "I can help him. We'll be right out. Just behind you, now go." She bent over Isaiah and only looked back briefly to see that Faramir did as she said. He was gone with Lucy. 

                She was alone with Isaiah and unable to help him. She had lost her wand in the skirmish with Lucius. She closed her eyes and held his hand. Another tapestry fell. She bent lower over the brave man's prone form, shielding him from the falling debris. 

                A hand reached down to touch her shoulder. She looked up and was met with the urgent gaze of Draco. 

                There was a sick realization. She knew her visions were coming to pass. But like a horrible dream, she wanted to cry out, to make things different. It was all the same no matter how desperately she tried to do something, anything differently. 

                She met his eyes and they seemed to say he was sorry. And she was sorry too. A sob rose in her throat. It was all playing out like her nightmare, but she couldn't stop it, try as she might. 

                 "Get out!" he said to her as ash and falling timbers made the air more and more un-breathable. 

                She coughed and her eyes stung. "I can't leave him here," she pleaded. 

                "Ginny, go. Get out of here," he said, covering his mouth with one arm and lifting Isaiah into a sitting position with the other. "This whole place will collapse. There is an armory next to it."

                She knew the weight of the consequences, but she would no more leave him than she would Isaiah. 

                "And what will you do?" she asked, coughing in more smoke. 

                He reached out, grabbed her roughly by the back of the neck and flung her toward him as another tapestry fell from the rafters, where she was crouching. She righted herself and kicked the flaming fabric away from herself and Isaiah's prone form. 

                "I'll be right behind you. I promise. Ginny, I won't leave you." She searched his eyes. He had made a lot of promises lately. His eyes told her that he would keep this one despite everything. 

                She stood and stepped away, over the tapestry ablaze, dizzy with smoke and heat. 

                She looked back to reassure herself that he was right behind. He was lifting Isaiah carefully. 

                It was then that they were divided as a large beam came crashing down in flames. It split the room in a fiery line, demarcating who would leave and who would not. 

                "Go!" he shouted, more ferociously this time. He set Isaiah back on the floor, careful of his head and his injury. "We'll find another way out."

                "No! I'm not leaving without you!"

                She saw him through flame. It was the worst and most haunting of her dreams. Through the fury of red and orange raging up around him and around her, he met her eyes and told her: "You have to."

                She opened her mouth to say more but was knocked to the floor by another flaming projectile from the fast incinerating roof of the complex. Lying there she thought to tell him something, but what, she couldn't guess. She was overcome with the need to say something, anything. Their last moments together couldn't have been filled with silence… they mustn't be. 

                She struggled for words, but unconsciousness tugged at her and pulled her down and that was the end of all that she could remember. 

***

                Faramir made for the entrance of the castle as fast as he could. His heir was waiting outside. 

                "Harry!" Lucy yelled immediately upon seeing him. "Do you have it?"

                "Yes," he said, riding up to them. He threw her the silk bag that held the last of her pills. She caught it and took it immediately. 

                When her hair was no longer a silver-blond but raven in color, when she had the use of her legs again, she ran to Harry's horse. 

                The smoke darkened the sky. 

                He reached a hand down and swung her onto the saddle behind him. 

                "Harry," she said, breathless, "we have to get to the market. I've figured it out. It's Gabriel."

                "Gabriel?" Harry said. 

                "Yes. Faramir's family will be slaughtered," she explained, watching Faramir rush back into the burning castle. "Gabriel is his brother, Jill's son." 

                "What?" Harry asked. It sounded like nonsense. 

                "Gabriel was adopted. I think they are the same child. Galahad said that Eowyn could only use a child from the same time as the universe opening. Gabriel is from 1352."

                "But, if he is killed when he is younger, how can he continue to live in the future?" Harry asked, skeptical. 

                "That's why we have to get there. Our task isn't finished," she said urgently. "We have to save Gabriel—both of them."

                Harry turned around in his saddle to look at her. It wasn't crazy talk. Lucy was actually making some sense in a very illogical way. 

                His face paled. He hoped they were not too late. 

                Digging his heels into the flanks of the horse, he took off in the direction Lucy indicated. 

                The small hut was half aflame. 

                Lucy jumped before the horse had fully halted and ran into the flimsy structure. Harry was seconds behind her. 

                He had seen Gryffindor soldiers exiting the house. It was astonishing, he thought. Why would Gryffindor soldiers attack Faramir's family? 

                He entered behind Lucy. Already she was huddled over the forms of two lifeless bodies that Harry had never seen before. But it was eerie to see how much like him both children looked. 

                The girl, who must have been Claire, was lying in a small bed of hay, her white cloth slipping down over her black hair. Her throat was slashed. 

                She was clinging to a smaller boy, bleeding from his side. 

                "I don't get it," Lucy sobbed. 

                Harry surveyed the room and saw Claire's parents, Faramir's parents. He felt a sad bond. He had parents once who had given up this much for him. He could imagine the scene as it had played out. 

                The soldiers had come crashing in as Claire came to warn her family. 

                The father had taken out one of the scouts with a fire poker. There was a soldier lying in the doorway with a poker lodged in his throat. His tunic was torn at the arm. There was a mark there: The mark of the Legion of Slytherin. One last stab at the honor of Gryffindor from the witch of Slytherin.   

                The father was killed. 

                Between the father at the door and the children lay the mother. Her face was contorted into an expression of pleading. She had begged for the lives of her children. She was ignored, as his own mother had been. 

                Harry stared at the scene, knelt by the mother, hot tears streaming down his face, to the background noise of Lucy's sobs. 

                "I thought we were supposed to save them," she said, cradling the small boy, placing a kiss on Claire's ghostly white cheek. 

                Harry looked up from the mother. "Where is Gabriel?" He scanned the small structure, half of which was threatening to collapse. 

                There was a small cooing from behind Lucy. They looked at each other. Lucy's eyes went wide. She laid the dead boy down gently and began to dig through the hay next to Claire. Gabriel was here. Claire had hidden him—spared him. 

                She hugged the infant to her. It was the same baby she had seen in the arms of Claire in the Pensieve. 

***

                Faramir rushed back into the castle when Virginia and Isaiah did not come out. The smoke was thicker impairing his vision drastically. 

                He saw Ginny on the floor, unconscious, knocked out by a fallen beam. 

                Other giant rafters had fallen down. Isaiah would have been on the other side of the large cross beams that were aflame, dividing the room. He could not see past the flame. But he knew he was there. 

                He knew that Isaiah would have wanted him to save Ginny first, come back for him only after she was safe. 

                He took her small and prone form into his arms and left Isaiah there, praying for God to make him quick so that he could save both. 

                He laid Ginny at a distance from the flaming keep and turned to rush back into the Great Hall for his lord and friend. But the fire had caught to the armory. The explosion was loud and fierce. 

                He was driven to his knees. Shocked, he stared for some minutes at the collapsed keep, too grief stricken to move. Isaiah was gone. Faramir was not fast enough, strong enough to save them both. 

                He turned to the girl. Ginny lay in the snow, soot streaking her face with tears. 

                He kissed her cheek and then removed the Time-Turner from the front of her dress and turned it. 

                Once she was safe back in her own time, he set about looking for the other two heirs. They had taken off. He had business to tend to: getting the others back to their time safe. He could not think on the loss of Isaiah right now. 

                But he saw the smoke rising from the market and knew exactly from which house it was issuing from. 

                He ran with the speed of the desperate. He knew somehow what he would find there. 

                In the doorway he sank to his knees.  It was his family, his entire world destroyed in front of him. 

                He looked to his father and then to his mother where Harry sat, then to his brother and sister, dead—his youngest brother, wailing in Lucy's arms. 

                He moved slowly to his sister's side and took her hand. "Claire," he whispered. Looking to his little brother, he placed a hand on his tiny forehead. "Oliver, I am sorry I was not here to protect you both." 

                He removed the shoes from his sister's feet and laid her out flat, folding her arms over her chest, kissing her. He laid his brother out too, though he was already barefooted. He kissed little Oliver's forehead. 

                Turning to Lucy beside him, he said, "My brother Gabriel, is he hurt?"

                Lucy shook her head. "No, Claire had hidden him away." She handed him gently to Faramir who wept over him for a long time. 

                Lucy looked to Harry and he nodded. 

"Faramir?" she asked tentatively. 

                He looked up, with tear-washed brown eyes. 

                "The boy Gabriel that we came here to rescue is safe. He is your brother, three years older. He was raised by loving parents who dote on him. He has a mother who is frantic to have him back."

                Faramir listened but the grief was all too plain on his face that hid nothing, like Harry's. 

                "We should take him with us if you will allow it. He already has a good home. He will grow into the Gabriel that we know and fought to save. He will be loved."

                "I cannot raise him," Faramir said with a broken heart. 

                Lucy looked to Harry again. 

                "If it is what I must do," Faramir said finally. He laid his brother, the last of his family in the arms of Lucy and stood at the door of his family's destroyed home, watching as they carried Gabriel away from him. 

* The speech that Galahad delivered to his troops and that of Gryffindor is dedicated to Sara who told me as she was reading over it that it reminded her of _Henry V_. I have never been so flattered in my life. 


	22. Breakdown

Disclaimer: The characters, places and situations of the Harry Potter series belong to J.K. Rowling and associated companies. No money is being made on this little venture. 

Author's Note: A shorter chapter, I promise. Sorry it's not as prompt as I usually am. Rough weekend…social obligations…blah! Thank you's have been moved to the end of the chapter. But THANK YOU all!

Chapter Twenty-Two

Breakdown 

_"All day staring at the ceiling _

_Making friends with shadows on my walls _

_All night hearing voices telling me_

_That I should get some sleep_

_Because tomorrow might be good for something_

_Hold on_

_Feeling like I'm headed for a breakdown_

_And I don't know why_

_But I'm not crazy_

_I'm just a little unwell_

_I know right now you can't tell_

_But stay a while and maybe then you'll see_

_A different side of me_

_I'm not crazy_

_I'm just a little impaired_

_I know right now you don't care_

_But soon enough you're going to think of me _

_And how I used to be…"_

_Matchbox Twenty: 'Unwell'_

                Sirius met one of the biggest shocks of his life when he walked into the office of Arthur Weasley. 

                Bill and Charlie were there. 

                Dumbledore sat patiently by, holding his cane out in front of him. 

                The first thing Sirius thought was that they had found Gabriel. He rushed in urgently, but was put off with a sympathetic shake of the head from Arthur. 

                Then the heart-stopping words: "Sirius, you'd better sit down." Worry was written all over Arthur's worn face, and that of his sons, as he spoke. 

                Sirius looked from them to Dumbledore, who nodded. His head swam. If there was news about Gabriel then Jill should be the one to hear it, not him. 

                "I'll just go and fetch Jill, then," Sirius said, moving to the door. 

                "This concerns you, Sirius…and Harry," Dumbledore said, staring at him with unmovable calm. 

                He felt his heart lurch into his throat. He looked back to Arthur who was leaning over his desk with his palms spread out over so much paperwork. "Apparently, he went missing along with my daughter just after Gabriel and the girl." 

                Sirius was quiet for a moment, all eyes trained on him. Of all of the times that he had expected Harry to be drawn once again into something black, this had not been one. His breath caught in his chest. How had Harry become involved in any of this? He didn't see a connection at all. 

                "Gabriel…and the girl? Still no sign of them?" he asked, breathless. He felt a hot wave of panic. He was already at the height of panic. He had almost come to regard Gabriel as part of his family…it was too much to cope with the news of two missing children. 

                He caught a look. Arthur's eyes darted immediately to Dumbledore. He looked between the two of them, more anxious than he had ever felt in his entire life. Waiting for the bomb to drop. 

                "The girl was found," Dumbledore said, leaning forward and placing his hands gently on his cane. 

                "But Gabriel is still out there. Has the girl said anything? Where is she?" Sirius asked, urgently, frantically. 

                Dumbledore looked at him cautiously. "She is at the hospital, we are informed." He tilted his head downward, peering at Sirius over the rim of his half-moon spectacles. "Sirius, I think you should sit down."

                "I don't want to sit down," Sirius replied. "Someone tell me…whatever it is that you're keeping from me." 

                "The girl was found dead." Dumbledore blinked, shook his head. 

                Inhaling deeply, the words struck like an arrow into the middle of his chest. Of course, his heart went out to the girl's parents and he was obviously shaken by the death of a sweet child. But he was nearly knocked over with the weight of what those words implied. "He's still missing, though. He could be anywhere. Did you check the woods again?" he asked frantically. 

                Bill nodded. "But there's more you need to know about the girl."

                Sirius took a tentative foot forward but dared not step on it, trusting his weight to only one foot at a time. He wasn't sure it would support the weight. "No, Jill should be here. He's her child and she's worried."

                "You need to hear this first. We're not exactly sure how much Jill should know. You have to be the judge," Dumbledore said, exhaling and leaning back with great, visible strain. 

                "What else?" Sirius said, impatient for action, angered that there was nothing to do but talk. 

                "She had signs of what Bill has described accurately as close range magical burns." Arthur looked to Bill who nodded and swallowed hard. 

                "The Killing Curse, then?" Sirius said in little more than a whisper. 

                "We don't know that for sure, Sirius," Dumbledore said. "She was a small child. It could have been a number of curses. But we're not ruling out any of the Unforgivable Curses, no."

                "And Harry?" Sirius asked, shifting his weight nervously. "Where did Harry go? Who was the last to see him?"

                "I was," Bill volunteered. "He was in the woods searching with me and Ginny. I left them to check out a noise. When I came back they were right where I left them. But Ginny seemed upset and went back to the house. Harry went back a minute or so after that. I continued on with the search alone. When I found the girl…I can't be sure that they were there. Maybe they had already gone." Bill looked to his father, who was almost as visibly shaken as Sirius. Then he looked to Sirius and said, "I'm sorry."

                Sirius shook his head. "It wasn't your fault."

                "No, it wasn't, son," Arthur agreed. 

                After a moment in which everyone was silent, Sirius raised the question, "Where is Lucy now?"

_                "Who?" Arthur asked with a furrowed brow. _

                Dumbledore was the first to speak. "Lucilla Malfoy. I believe she was Imogen Spencer at your party tonight, the dark-haired girl with Harry."

                "Draco Malfoy's sister?" Bill asked with interest. 

                "You know her?" Sirius questioned, a bit at random. 

                Bill shook his head. "I met her in Paris last summer." He stopped and looked at his father, then to Dumbledore. "She's dead though, isn't she?"

                "Ah, my boy, that is a story for another day," Dumbledore said. 

                "She's gone as well," Arthur answered. 

                A long-suffering sigh escaped Charlie from the corner where he had been listening to all in silence. "Jesus. I feel like I should say 'I'm getting too old for this shit!'" 

                All eyes were on him for a moment. Silence. 

                Then: "I should probably find Jill and try to explain this to her." And Sirius left the room. 

***

                "So," Lucy said, lifting a branch carefully away from her face and Harry's as their lone horse picked its way through the rough path back to the chapel where Balthamos, Maren and four-year-old Gabriel would meet them. Azria should have made it there by now. 

                "So," Harry said, looking down to assure himself that the infant in his arms was wrapped tight. 

                "So, that was what I was brought back here to do," Lucy said with a tone that spoke of an ironic revelation. 

                "To do what?" Harry asked. 

                "To save Gabriel. Although, I had it all wrong. I came back because when he had gone missing, I knew exactly who had him and just where he would take him."

                "And?" Harry asked, shaking his head, no clue as to what she was trying to explain. 

                She wrapped her arms around him tighter, leaning her chin on his shoulder. "And I was meant to save the other Gabriel. His family was killed. Fate saw that. Fate said that he would be brought to the year 1994 where he would meet John and Jill Parry who would fall in love with him and adopt him."

                Harry nodded sadly. "That same fate said that he would meet them, they would fall in love with him and then that father would die. And then, just when things start to go good, just when I meet this little boy and fall in love with him, when Sirius does, he's kidnapped and his life threatened. His mother is probably worried frantic. Fate really likes to fuck with people, doesn't she?"

                "Fate is what keeps all of this randomness from being less…random," Lucy said in a whisper. 

                "Yeah, I suppose," Harry said. 

                Lucy blinked and sat up straight again. She had noticed an alteration in Harry's mood. He wasn't saying much, and when he did it was a very short and cynical comment. 

                They rode the rest of the way to the chapel in silence. The horse's hoof beats were the only sounds in Lucy's ears. 

                Azria's horse stood tied up next to Lucy's 

                Lucy jumped down and took the sleeping child from Harry who tied the horse with all of the rest. 

                Inside, they explained what had happened to Faramir's family. Azria nodded regrettably. 

                When they had finished Azria reported that she had restored Gabriel back to health but that she had prolonged his sleeping state so that when he woke up he would remember none of this. 

                "And Ginny, my brother Draco, where are they?" Lucy asked, wrapping the baby in her cloak. "Did they make it back already?" 

                "The battle was not yet won when I left to meet you here," Azria said. "And its outcome remains unclear to me."

                "I cannot leave without him. Draco does not even have a Time-Turner," she said, looking to Harry who lifted the older sleeping child into his arms. 

                "When we meet with him, I will send him with Virginia," Azria said, placing a hand on Lucy's shoulder. 

                "Yes, she will not leave without him," Lucy agreed. "I am just worrying."

                "Your task is soon over," Azria said. "Deliver this child to his time and yourselves to yours and do not worry about the other two. They will complete their tasks and return home as well. I have seen it all. Fear not."

                "Goodbye and God speed you both," Balthamos said with a bow. 

                "Balthamos, thank you for your faithful service," Lucy said, returning the bow. 

                Maren stepped forward and placed a hand on Harry's cheek, kissing him gently on the forehead. She did the same to Lucy. "You have both earned the respect of our people forever, a debt of gratitude that we will never be able to repay. We owe you so much."

                "Goodbye, lady," Harry said solemnly with a bow. 

                Lucy let go of Maren's hand and slipped the Time-Turner around her neck and Harry's. They were gone from 1352 in the briefest of flashes. 

                Lucy had been fiddling with her mended Time-Turner on the trip back to the chapel and had figured that they should turn the Turner only three-fourths of the way to reach 1994. 

                Harry had suggested sarcastically that they just leave it up to fate. 

                Lucy had a lot of faith in powers greater than humans'. She liked to think that it was God working through some master plan. At least God could hear people. He seemed a little more personal than fate, a little more likely to give a damn. 

                They arrived in the Forbidden Forrest outside of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where sounds of music and laughter came faintly from the school. 

                As they headed for the path to the gate of Hogsmeade, she turned back to look at the school. There was a large blue carriage sitting in the front. She recognized it, the carriage of her own Headmistress at Beauxbatons.  And an enormously imposing ship anchored in the lake. The Tri-Wizard Tournament was underway at Hogwarts. 

                Harry turned back to look with her. He was silent for a long time and then he said, "I almost wish that I could walk right in there and warn myself about what will happen, warn Cedric. But I know I can't."

                Lucy slid her hand into his. "No, you can't Harry. But the good thing is you know that you'll get through it. And Cedric…"

                "Cedric will die and we'll all go on and nothing will change."

                "You've changed more than you know." Lucy tugged at his arm. 

                "I guess," was Harry's despondent answer. 

                They turned and walked away from the school and into the village. 

                They stopped outside of The Three Broomsticks. Harry looked to Lucy and said, maybe you should ask. Lucy nodded in agreement, pulling Harry's hood down over his eyes. He looked more conspicuous now that he was trying to be less so. 

                They moved into the relative warmth of the pub and Lucy walked to the bar. Madam Rosmerta smiled cheerily at her and wished her a Happy New Year. 

                "Thank you," Lucy said politely. "May we use your fireplace to get to Diagon Alley?" she asked. 

                "I don't usually open it to customers, but you're cute and I doubt your using it for illicit purposes." Rosmerta handed her a jar with powder in it. "Leave it on the mantle when you go."

                "Thank you again," she said, shifting the still sleeping infant in her arms. 

                Inside of Tom's pub, The Leaky Caldron, the atmosphere was much more rowdy. The Boxing Day crowds were out in full force and seemingly all at Tom's for a drink. 

                Harry grabbed Lucy by the hand and pulled her out into the no less crowded Muggle street. "Tell me you know which orphanage he goes to?"

                Lucy nodded. "The one that I used to do charity work at."

                "Name?" Harry asked, shifting the weight of Gabriel, letting his head fall onto his shoulder. He wrapped his cloak tightly around him and continued to walk. 

                "St. Michael's in White Chapel," Lucy answered. 

                "_Nice_," Harry said sarcastically, raising his eyebrows and glancing over his shoulder at her. 

                Walking beside him for a few minutes in silence, Lucy finally said, "I am going to run myself a bath when we get back and I might just live in there for the rest of my life."

                Harry smiled briefly. 

                "Is this it?" he turned and asked her, after an arduous trip on the Underground, finally coming up on a street with old Victorian buildings dusted with city grime. The place looked depressing. 

                Lucy sighed and nodded, producing an envelope from her cloak. "I wrote it before we said our goodbyes," she explained. The paper was period parchment. The ink could probably have been dated back to 1352 precisely, if they were trying to find the people who had abandoned the child. 

                Clever, Harry thought admiringly. 

                She tucked the letter into the blankets and made sure that the infant was bundled up tight. 

                It was a warmer day than most Londoners were used to in December. Lucy had no reservations about leaving him on the step. She would watch until he was noticed anyway.  

                The door opened as a couple was about to leave, shaking hands with one of the directors of the home. The child had laid there for twenty minutes. On several occasions in that amount of time, Lucy had fought the urge to run and take the child and keep him with her. She didn't want it to be like this. She was constantly reminding herself that he would find a good home with the Parrys in no time. 

                She felt Harry's reassuring hand on her back.                

                "Let's go," he said when the director had returned to the house with the child and the couple had strolled down the street and around the corner. 

                In an alleyway they returned to 1997. Back at Charing Cross Road they ducked into The Leaky Caldron once more, Lucy reminding Harry that he needn't duck under his hood anymore, they were in their own time again. It was a relief to speak those words. 

                He paused just inside of Diagon Alley and turned to look at her,  four-year-old Gabriel asleep, head leaning over his shoulder, drooling. Lucy smiled to herself, thinking that Harry's own children would look a lot like Gabriel, a lot like Harry must have looked when he was that age. 

                With his free hand he reached out and touched the chain at her neck, pulling the Time-Tuner out of her collar. 

                She knew that this was coming. With a sigh she said, "Harry, I know."

                "You know what?" he asked gently, removing his hand. 

                "I know you want to change it. There are things I want to change as well. There isn't one second that I wear this that I don't think I could go back and…I don't know, do something…help her."

                He looked at her, brushed a strand of black hair away from her eyes. "Your mother?"

                She nodded, her cheek brushing his hand. "I know you wish you could take it all back, change what happened that night."

                Harry swallowed. "Why not? We changed the outcome of an entire war, the four of us. I could easily warn my parents."

                "Fate…God…whoever, had that planned long before we were here to carry out that plan, Harry. We were meant to be instrumental in that past. Look around you," she said gently. 

                He did, not knowing what exactly he was supposed to be looking at. 

                "We haven't changed anything. The past was already written with us in mind. The past is as much aware of the future as the future is dependent upon the past," she explained. 

                "My parents were meant to be dead. I was meant to be alone, then," Harry answered finally, looking down at his feet. 

                She pulled him into a tight embrace. "Oh, Harry," she whispered into his ear, rubbing his cheek with hers, tears from her face and his wetting her hair. "I know it's a tough thing to understand. And I don't want you to have to be alone. Neither does Sirius or Ron or Hermione or even Ginny. You have a family. You're not alone, never."

                He closed his eyes and leaned into her. That was true. He had a family. 

                He was jerked suddenly away from her and she from him. Two uniformed Aurors with all-business expressions spoke a few practiced lines about the rights for this and that and bound both of their hands behind their backs, taking Gabriel from Harry. 

                They looked at each other stunned. 

***

                Snape walked around the ruins hidden within the forest. This is where he had see Imogen disappear to. But she had not come back. He wondered what it was she was trying to tell him, what it had to do with Jill Parry's son or her father. Lucius Malfoy had a plan. There was no doubt about it. 

                He cursed the inconvenience, striving hard not to blame Lucy for this. She was, after all, just a child and probably in a world of trouble. If she were to meet up with her father again, Snape had no doubt that he would try to kill her once and for all. Arabella and Mae needed him, were expecting him and he was here hunting after a troublesome student. He felt stretched thin and worried. 

                "Hello, Professor," an unexpected but friendly and wise voice said behind him. 

                Snape turned to see Firenze. 

                The centaur stared through Snape in a way most people would not enjoy. Snape disliked centaurs more than most people. But, as far as he was concerned, they were tolerable and had their uses. They probably regarded humans with the exact same form of aversion. 

                "Hello," Snape said coolly, narrowing his eyes. 

                "You're looking for the girl?" Firenze said, folding his massive arms in front of him. 

                Snape took a tentative step forward. "Yes, have you seen her?"

                Firenze lifted his head proudly and turned a circle. Already, dusk was falling in dusty clouds around them. The moon was peeking out into the sky as she always did in mid-winter. Firenze studied her silver outline and answered cryptically, "She will be along soon." He paused and looked to Snape. "All that was set in motion six hundred years ago is now complete."

                "I don't want to hear about the bloody stars. I have very important business. I need to know where the girl is. Have you seen her?" Snape asked becoming impatient. 

                "She will be along shortly. And you will be here to help her," Firenze said with measured patience, his eyes glinting, daring the Potions Master to contradict him. For all of their postulating and far off dreaming, centaurs were infallible guides to future events, no matter how unwilling they were to divulge them. 

                Snape stood silent. He knew that there was something that the centaur was trying to tell him. For a centaur he was endeavoring to be as straightforward as possible, a great undertaking for these creatures. 

                "You have spent the greater part of your life watching over that child, intervening where you could, seeing that she came to as little harm as possible," Firenze said finally with great respect and admiration. 

                Snape cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. "Her father was always tough on her, tougher than anyone should be on a little girl. Her mother did a lot more to protect her than I ever did. It was all useless. He controls her, uses her, hurts her. I could never stop him." He paused, visibly saddened by the comparison between Lucy and himself. She copes a lot better than he did at her age. 

                "No," Firenze said urgently. "Her father loves her better than himself. She has a family that misses her."

                Snape blinked. "The girl I followed into the forest. She had black hair and a black cloak on. This is not the girl you speak of."

                Firenze shook his head slowly. "Roan watched as she and the boy left the forest with the child. They are safe now. Their part is done. I speak of the seer."

                "Virginia Weasley?" Snape asked urgently. 

                "Even so," Firenze nodded. "She is here this moment." He pointed one powerful hand in the direction of the low ruined wall. 

                Snape ran for it, seeing what it was that Firenze had been trying to tell him. Whatever had happened, it involved more than just Lucy. He was not referring to Snape's inability to keep Lucius Malfoy from hurting his child. He was speaking of his duty to the seer and his inability to keep her from those that hunted her. 

                "It had to be this way. Everything is finished now," Firenze said hollowly. 

                Snape bent beside Ginny who lay unconscious in the snow, one hand on the hilt of a massive sword. 

                "Everything is _finished_?" Snape asked angrily, causing the centaur to step back. He lifted Ginny from the snow, her fiery hair hanging wildly around her. "_She_ is finished. She will die out here and you centaurs who see all and know all do nothing to help. You do nothing but look at the stars. You care nothing for what goes on down here."

                He left the centaur angrily and headed back to the school to owl Madam Pomfrey immediately. 

***

                Jill could be heard from down the hall. 

                Sirius walked slowly, delaying the inevitable. But hearing her fevered pitch spurred him to move faster. 

                Two lower voices spoke in appeasing tones. 

                He rounded the corner. The secretary's desk in front of the Minister's office was vacant. He sprung past it. In the office, the Minister stood with his secretary at his side and Jill, cornering them angrily behind his desk. 

                "You're not doing anything. You did nothing when all of those children disappeared months ago, _thousands_ of them. Well, now it's _my_ child that was taken. I know it _is_ the same person. And you're going to do something about it. Or you're not leaving this office, _Minister_!" Jill was screaming, glaring, red-eyed and frantic. 

                An owl fluttered in on the desk and diffused the scene. 

                "Ms. Parry," the Minister said, as if fending off the press. "I will be with you shortly." He grabbed the letter, freeing the bird which flew back to the window and disappeared into the lightly dusted snow. He scanned the letter quickly, his eyes flew wide. He folded it and placed it in the breast pocket of his robes and turned to his secretary. "The individual that we have been looking for has turned up in Diagon Alley. Have David send two of his Aurors to make the arrest."

                The secretary nodded and turned to leave. "_Two Aurors?" she asked again, as if this made no sense. _

                "Two," the Minister answered. 

                She left. 

                "Ms. Parry," he began again, calm, oily, smarmy. "Threatening my life will only get you into a nice cozy cell block. Remain patient and we will find your child. I will see that it has top priority."

                Sirius came into the room and placed a hand on Jill's shoulder. 

                Minister Grey pushed past the two. "If you don't mind, I _do_ have holidays to get back to."

                He ushered them out into the hall with more empty assurances and smiles. A "Happy New Year," and he had gone. 

                Sirius took a piece of folded parchment from his sleeve, unfolded it and read. His eyes flew wide. 

                He grabbed Jill by the wrist saying that there was no time to explain, they had to get Arthur and Dumbledore and hurry to the Ministry of Magical Law Enforcement Detainment Center without delay. 

***

                Ginny blinked, feeling excruciating pain just behind her eyes.

                She breathed deeply and braced herself, turning her head to the side and wincing with pain. 

                Galahad's sword rest on the bedside table, a reminder of her efforts and a reminder of one of the greatest people she would ever know. 

                Beyond the sword, sitting in a chair nearby, was Professor Snape. He was reading a book. She concentrated on the cover. It was _Faust_. She smiled. A fan of Muggle literature, was he?                

                "Is that in its original German?" she asked with a smile. 

                He looked up, removing reading glasses. He closed the cover and glanced at it momentarily. "Yes, it is."

                Ginny shook her head and laid back on her pillow. "Show off."

                There was a rare smile from the Potions Master. "How are you feeling, Miss Weasley?"

                She reached a hand up and felt for the chain around her neck. It wasn't there. "Is Draco back? Lucy? Harry?"

                Snape set his book aside. "Miss Malfoy and Mr. Potter are back, yes. I was unaware that Mr. Malfoy had anything to do with…your capers in 1352."

                "How do you know about that?" Ginny asked, starting suddenly. 

                "Miss Malfoy and Mr. Potter have been detained. The child that they went after is safe," he informed her. 

                "That's good." She closed her eyes. 

                He knew that she wasn't quite aware of everything that he had just told her. She would be drifting in and out of consciousness for a few hours until Madam Pomfrey arrived to deal with her head injury. 

                The questions about Draco Malfoy startled him somewhat. 

                Hours later, she was awake. 

                Madam Pomfrey had checked her over and deemed her able to go home. 

                Professor Snape had only left her side to send word to Mae that he would be late in meeting her and Arabella. 

                When he came back to the infirmary, Ginny was sitting up and eating. 

                He smiled. "You look much better."

                She smiled. "You took my Time-Turner, didn't you?"

                "If the Ministry finds out about it, you will be in as much trouble, I dare say, as Miss Malfoy." Snape sat in his usual chair. 

                Ginny's smile fell. "She was arrested?" 

                Snape nodded. He changed the subject urgently. 

                "About Draco Malfoy," he said. Then he stopped. 

                Ginny's eyes glassed over and her smile fell further. "He didn't make it. I tried remembering if he got out. But he didn't. He would have come back with me if he had gotten out….actually, I don't know how I got out. I didn't use the Time-Turner to bring myself back." One tear trailed down her cheek. 

                Snape watched in stony sympathy. 

                "I was…" she blinked and tried hard to remember. "I told Faramir to take Lucy out. The building was going to collapse. Isaiah was hurt badly and I said I could help him. But I lied because I didn't want Lucy to stay behind because of me. But Draco found me. That was just before the roof fell in."

                She flung the bedclothes off of her legs. "I need my Time-Turner," she said urgently. "He's still there, I know it."

                Snape shook his head. He didn't want to have to be the one to do this. "Ms. Weasley, no one has seen him. If it happened the way you say it did, he didn't survive," he felt surer of this than she seemed to look. 

                "Well," she said urgently, "maybe that's not the way it happened. I don't know," she offered frantically. "Maybe he did…" She didn't believe it herself. 

                She tried hard not to cry. Her lip trembled and she felt hot tears trickle down her cheeks, not for the first time today, nor the last. "He couldn't have…" 

                "I'm sorry, Ms. Weasley," he said, sounding very much like he was. "I'm trying to track your parents down so that they can take you home."

                "No," Ginny said, wiping her face on her sleeve. She stood. "I'll be fine. I can make it home on my own." She took up the dress Azria had lent her and the sword Galahad had given her and her cloak. 

                "Do you want me to go with you?" he asked, tentatively. 

                "No," she said with a faint smile. "I will be okay."

                "Are you sure?" he asked with a raise of his eyebrow that suggested that he didn't think she would be. 

                She nodded and walked out of the infirmary. 

***

                Gabriel was reunited with his mother in the lobby of the detention center. 

                Sirius was relieved in a way, but of course, there was never a moment to rest when Harry was involved in something. And there was never a simple explanation. But Sirius wasn't expecting something nearly this involved. 

                "1352?" he asked, pacing, stunned by disbelief. 

                Lucy and Harry had been brought into a small conference room. His attempts at negotiating her release tonight were hopeless. Lucy was staring penitently up at him with pleading eyes. Her tangled curls lending her an infuriatingly angelic appearance. 

                "Please, don't yell at Harry. This was really my fault, Sirius," she begged. "It was my Time-Turner, my decision. I knew that my father had taken Gabriel—."

                Sirius wheeled and glared. "Lucy, I think you've done enough explaining for one night. Illegal use of a Time-Turner, illegal magic on a Time-Turner, Lucy," he stopped and took a claming breath. "I'm not even sure that they believe your story about your father and all of these missing children. You could be looking at a kidnapping charge too."

                "But, you have all of the evidence right there," Harry said. 

                He was pointing to an abused piece of parchment in Sirius' hand. It was the letter he had filched from Solomon Grey's pocket as he was wishing them a Happy New Year and whisking them out of his office. He had picked up a few skills from Peter's experience in the slums of Liverpool. 

                "No, Harry," Sirius said tersely. "This alerted me to your situation. He was having you followed by someone. And this tells me that Lucius is very good at pulling his puppet's strings."

                Lucy cut in. "I had to tell the truth, Sirius. I couldn't lie."

                "Yes, but telling the truth is a different matter than hanging yourself. This," he said, holding up the absconded note, "won't hold up in court. These accusations around your father and Minister Grey won't stand. You are going to take the fall for all of it because of your confessions."

                He looked at both of them when he said this. They had both admitted to using the Time-Turner. Harry didn't let Lucy take it all upon herself. 

                "Any other charge he wants to add to it, Lucy, he can." Sirius began to pace again. "Lucy, he could lock you away for the rest of your life to keep your mouth shut about his plans."

                Lucy nodded and looked at the table in front of her. 

                "Is she really going to jail?" Harry asked, worried. 

                "I can't pull anymore strings," Sirius answered. "The Minister, acting on the part of your father, Lucy, has got you locked down pretty tightly."

                "So that means I will have to stand trial?" she said, visibly shaken. 

                He didn't like the sound of it anymore than she did. The jury would be no doubt filled with twelve of Lucius' most animated puppets and they would vote Lucy into Azkaban or worse. He could add just about any charge onto her sentence and likely make it stick. Her name was condemning enough. When the press got around to that fact and the fact that she was linked to the disappearance of all of those children, now lying dead on a battlefield in 1352, he wouldn't be surprised if the vigilantes were out in full force in an hour's time to exact their own justice on her. 

                She seemed content to take the blame for her father's inconceivable plans. 

                Lucy sat calmly and took her berating well. 

                "I'll see if I can get you transferred to the criminal ward at St. Mungo's," he offered more gently, leaving. 

                "I'm staying with her," Harry said. 

                "You've been released." Sirius stopped and leveled an angry gaze at Harry. "You'll do as I say. You're going home with me where I can keep an eye on you."

                Harry was furious. "I'm not going anywhere without her."

                "We'll talk about this later, Harry," Sirius yelled. 

                Harry stood, his chair clattering to the floor loudly. "Who do you think you are? You're not my father," he spat. 

                Sirius stopped midway through the door and turned. "I know I'm not. I'm just trying to keep the both of you out of trouble." He stopped and favored them both with considering looks, Harry was red in the face and seething, Lucy looked as though she felt the weight of her wrong, but determined that she would have done it over again the same way if given the chance. "What would your mothers say?" he asked. 

                It sufficiently humbled the two of them, those few simple words. Lucy looked struck and Harry looked repentant. He hadn't meant to stab at them. Both of them were hurt by the comment. But it was more to make them realize that what they did affected more people than just themselves. Draco and Ginny were still missing. Both of their mothers would have been quick to remind them of this. 

                "Stay put, Harry. Lucy, I'll see if we can't get you transferred tonight."

***

                There was nothing left to do at the hospital. Ron accompanied his mother home feeling almost as miserable as she looked. 

                Fred, George and Anni were discussing somewhere in the other parts of the house whether Molly should be told now that Ginny was missing, or wait until she came to realize that the house was completely empty. 

                Ron was appeased in the slightest to notice that Ginny's hand on the clock pointed to traveling, but that could mean anything. He sat his mother down with her back facing the clock. There was no use in her finding out before Anni, Fred and George had drawn straws as to who would break the news. 

                He thought fleetingly of Hermione. But he soon shook the thought out of his head. He would see her and sort all of this out when Ginny was home and safe. 

                He turned to the stove and put the kettle on for tea and busied himself with staring out the window. 

                The door opened and shut and he didn't turn around. He knew he would see either Bill or Charlie, neither of which he was eager to argue with for the next hour. 

                He turned only when he heard his father's voice behind him, talking to his mum. "Gabriel was found."

                "Oh, that's just the best news, the poor dear. Was he hurt?" Molly asked, brightening for the slightest of moments. 

                Arthur sat and ran a hand through his thinning hair. "There's more," he said ominously as Bill and Charlie came to sit at the table with their parents. Fred, George and Anni came into the room and listened on the edges of the conversation as Ron did. 

                "What more, dear? Is the child all right?" Molly pressed, concerned. 

                "Lots more apparently. But Gabriel is fine," Arthur said heavily. "This is incredible to believe but…"

                Fred chimed in with an impatient, "Well, what, dad? Spit it out."

                Arthur opened his mouth to say something when another person came through the door. It was Ginny. 

                Fred was the first to the door where he accosted her with a frantic hug, squeezing the breath out of her. She didn't move. Not even one muscle of her mouth twitched into a smile, or even the shadow of one. Ron watched with mounting unease. She wasn't glad to be there. 

                "Oh, God, Ginny you're back!" Arthur said, heaving a sigh of relief. "Sirius was just about to go looking for you."

                Ginny gave her father a cold stare and said, "Well, I guess you can tell him not to bother."

                She turned, wrenching herself from her brother's arms and headed up the stairs. Ron heard her door shut behind her. 

                "Ron," Charlie said with a jerk of his head, suggesting that Ron offer himself up as a sacrifice and try to talk Ginny out of her room. 

                "Got to hell, Charlie," Ron spat with contempt. 

                "Will someone explain what's going on here?" Molly said. 

                "Was that a sword she was carrying?" Anni asked almost at random. 

                Arthur heaved a sigh and began to explain the whole arduous tale. 

***

                _She heard nothing but the 'drip drip' of a constant trickle of water. The entire place was lit in an eerie half light that seemed to glow and unearthly shade of green. She seemed strangely at home here and she wasn't sure why. It was like a peace in her ever troubled soul. _

_                She felt his breath on her neck. He was here. Tom. _

_                She felt her heart jump, both with pleasure and pain. She always longed for the moments when she would see him or speak to him whenever they were apart. To her inexperienced heart, this was what love meant. Had she not been so young, impressionable, naïve, this wouldn't have hurt so much. _

_                He whispered to her of her vital importance, of his deep-rooted need for her, how he thought about her every moment. _

_                Her heart was aflutter as he admitted that she was more precious to him than anything else had been. She could feel the taint of a lie in his touch, on his breath. She saw the glint in his eyes. He was doing this all for him. She didn't matter to him beyond her uses for his ends. She was his. She had already said so. _

_                It had even become a pleasant occurrence to her when he would grow impatient of her sniveling and whining and hauled her arm painfully behind her bringing her to her knees. He would remind her who needed whom here. _

_                Before releasing her, he would always force her to say that it was she that depended upon him. She knew deep down that he couldn't survive without her, but she kept it to herself. Even when he told her that she was worthless, desirable to no one but him. She prayed that if this was all that she could get from life, this dependent, sick, twisted love, she prayed for its preservation. She thought she would die if he grew tired of her, left her. _

_                He had. And it had broken her heart. _

_                One of the last things he had said to her, the last thing that she remembered before slipping into unconsciousness, only to wake up prodded by Harry, the diary, her precious Tom gone forever, was , "You'll never be worth more to any other being than your are to me. And your heart is useless. I don't want it, no one does. Second-hand, useless thing." _

_                Draco must have known that. He could see it in her eyes, branded on her skin, in the way she talked. She had been used and thrown to the curb. He wouldn't deny that he had been accustomed to more. Better._

_                Ginny sat up in her bed, still wearing the infirmary issue nightgown. She looked around. She felt the chill of something wet on her cheek. As she removed a hand, she wasn't surprised to see it wet with tears. _

                The small amount of moonlight bleeding in through her curtains, afforded her a glimpse of herself in her mirror. 

                She picked up a knick-knack from her bedside table, something girly and of little significance to her and threw it at her reflection, smashing the glass out of the frame. 

                She stood and brought the rest of her room down around her feet in the same fury, ignoring the frantic knocking on the other side of her door. 

                An owl through the open window, a familiar eagle owl named Sadie. She smiled slightly. Taking the letter, she opened it urgently and read. 

                _Ginny, _

_                Saw the paper today. Looks like even psychopaths need friends. _

_                How about meeting a good friend for lunch?_

_                Neville. _

_                Ginny's smile widened. She wasn't sure what he had read in the paper, but it couldn't have been good. She was reluctant to go downstairs with the rest of the living and have a peek at it herself. She prayed that it wasn't a Rita Skeeter exclusive. _

                She blew a strand of hair out of her face and wrote a quick reply, accepting. 

                Finally, after the owl had been sent away with its reply and the banging on her door subsided, she looked at her computer and flipped the switch, watching the screen light up with apprehension and excitement. 

***

                Harry came through the door amidst fevered glares from Ron. 

                Sirius followed, sticking embarrassingly close wherever Harry went. When Harry had tried to talk to him about considering a little space, Sirius blew up in an overly paternal manner. "You don't deserve to be treated as an adult, Harry, until you learn to grow up."

                That had been the end of that. 

                Molly had taken custody of him so that Sirius could spend the rest of the day doing damage control for Lucy. He would serve as her council and, indeed, it was all going to trial. She was facing serious charges and in order to be the most effective for her case, Harry had to be somewhere else. 

                Sirius left without another word. 

                Ron took Harry by the arm immediately saying, "Take a walk with me, best mate." He had said it so sarcastically that Harry was left in no doubt that Ron was angrier with him than he had ever been or would ever be again. 

                "Hey, Harry. Heard you wound up in the slammer last night. Let's see the fingerprint ink," Anni prodded, making light of the situation. 

                "Shut up, Anni," Harry said hotly. "It's wizarding prison. They don't use fingerprints, idiot."

                Ron threw him though the door impatiently and shut it, blocking further banter. 

                They walked away from the house in silence, Ron's shuffling feet making the only sound on the snow covered street. 

                "Okay, I know you're angry at me for leaving you and Hermione behind, but—," Harry began. 

                Ron stopped and turned, flushing a livid red to his hairline. "No, Harry. I'm not angry because you left me behind."

                Harry stopped and blinked. "Then what, Ron? Just come out and say it."

                "Okay, Harry," Ron shouted, advancing on Harry, causing him to step back in surprise. "I'll tell you why I'm angry. I'm angry because you took Ginny with you."

                Harry blinked again. "You think that I'm trying to replace you as my best friend?"

                "No, Harry." Ron was shouting and gesturing wildly. 

                "Well, isn't that why you hate Lucy? Because you think she'll replace you?" Harry shoved his frozen hands in his pockets. 

                "Does everything have to be about you?" Ron asked with mounting disgust. "For once, Harry, this is about someone other than yourself."

                Harry stepped back again as Ron advanced angrily on him. "You took Ginny back there with you and then you just left her."

                Harry didn't say anything for a long time. "Is she all right?"

                "That's very sweet of you to ask, Harry. No, she's not all right. It's one thing to go off and fight evil with me and even Hermione. I know that she can take care of herself. Ginny, on the other hand, can't."

                "Well, what happened?" Harry asked. 

                "She came home pretty banged up. She went to her room and locked herself in. At about three this morning she trashed her room. Nothing left unbroken in there but her computer. She won't tell me anything. Harry, I don't mind your being friends with her, but I don't want you dragging her into situations and then stranding her. She's…I don't know what to do." Ron turned and continued to walk. His anger had dissipated somewhat. 

                "And it's my fault," Harry said weakly. It wasn't a question, but a realization. 

                "Yes," Ron said. "I don't know what happened back there or what she went through. Harry, I can't even keep track of how many times I have almost lost her. I don't want her put in that kind of spot again."

                Harry nodded. "Do you think I should talk to her?"

                Ron shook his head. "She's not talking to anyone right now."

                "Ron, I'm sorry…for everything," Harry said quietly. 

                Ron gave him a considering look. "Harry, I'm not mad. I am a little resentful that you wouldn't let me and Hermione help you, but I understand. Hermione understands too, I think. She's not speaking to me."

                Harry started. "You had a fight? But, I thought—," he began. 

                "It's nothing," Ron assured him. "I'll stop by her house tomorrow and we'll talk. It'll be fine."

                Harry let out a breath he'd been holding in. "Ron, I'm sorry for everything. I know that I haven't been the best of friends lately. But you've always been there for me. I just wish you knew how much that means to me," he said. 

                Ron stopped and looked at his friend, struck. He endeavored to say something but instead, drew Harry into a tight embrace. 

                Harry would remember that moment when he thought back on Ron. It would be his most cherished of memories. 

                "Did I tell you both congratulations?" Harry said finally. 

                "I don't remember," Ron said with a smile. "Tell me again."

                "Congratulations. You know you're a lucky little sod. And Hermione's lucky to have you as well." Harry smiled and turned back to the house with his friend. 

                "Harry?" Ron asked after a moment of silence. "I think I mean this…congratulations too. I know that you were never the same when she died. As unrealistic as it was for her to come back…it figures that God would have put an angel on earth for you. The mortals were never good enough in my opinion."

                Harry smiled at the comment, feeling something release inside of him, a sort of tension that he had been carrying around, tightening every time that Lucy and Ron had clashed. 

                "Thanks, Ron. That means a lot to me."

                "I know. That's why I had to choke down my natural aversion to her family. I see how much you adore her and how much she adores you…but I just have to say one last thing," Ron said quickly. 

                "What?" Harry asked. 

                "It's still pretty fucked up that you'll probably marry a Malfoy," Ron smiled. 

                Harry shook his head. "Er…that won't happen for a long time. Lucy's guardianship will pass to her brother. As long as she's underage…he'll never consent to more than my being in the same room with her."

                "Speaking of…where did Malfoy go to anyway?" Ron asked. 

                "He was with us back in 1352. Last time I saw him he was heading back to his father's camp," Harry shrugged. "Azria told us that he would come back with Ginny."

                Ron's eyes flew wide. "Ginny came back on her own."

                They exchanged a look and walked a little faster back to the Burrow. 

***

                Ginny rubbed her eyes and looked over the Acknowledgements that she had just typed out. Blinked tiredly and smiled. She had written a chapter and a half and still had come to no clear conclusion as to how she was going to do this. 

                She was resolved. She would have to get her Time-Turner back from Snape. No matter what the cost, she had to be sure, she had to go back and see for herself. 

                She glanced at her clock on the wall, the face was busted, but it still ticked away the hours. 

                It was five after ten in the morning. 

                She saved her work and then crept down the hall to the bathroom, careful to avoid any inquiries as to her health. She was sick of hearing, "Ginny, are you all right?"

                She showered and changed and crept back to her room. 

                She knew going downstairs would lead to unavoidable conversation, but she had to brave it. 

                On the table was the article that Neville had referred to. In bold ink were the words: _Hero Harry Potter's Lurid Love Triangle with Daughter of a Millionaire and Tragic Psychopath: A Rita Skeeter Exclusive. _

_                Front page news. That's just grand, Ginny thought to herself as she picked the paper up and reached to throw it into the fire. She stopped as three words jumped out at her from the print. She sat down dizzily to read. _

                _Last night, hero of the wizarding community, Harry Potter, wound up behind bars after mixing himself up in the exploits of girlfriend Lucilla Malfoy. Daughter of Lucius Malfoy, millionaire and fabled supporter of the ex-Dark Lord Voldemort. Lucilla was arrested on charges of illegal use of a Time-Turner and is rumored to have been involved in the string of kidnappings that have plagued wizarding  Europe for the past three months. While Potter was released late last night, Malfoy will remain in law enforcement custody at St. Mungo's criminal ward until her trial, set for later this winter. . _

_                "That is only the beginning of the story," states student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Nan Mallory. "Frankly, I'm not surprised in the least. This is the sort of behavior that we have come to expect from our famed hero. He was dating Virginia Weasley for the longest time but said that he had grown tired of her hallucinating and conspiracy theorizing. He said that she had never been the same since her accident in her first year at school. He has taken up with several girls since then."_

_                The "accident" that Miss Mallory referred to was none other than the famed Chamber of Secrets catastrophe. Hushed up by the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, Miss Weasley's involvement can now be brought to light. Through the mysterious workings of an old diary, the clinically deranged Miss Weasley was able to access the powers of Voldemort. She was responsible for the near death of at least four students at the school, one of which happened to be Harry Potter's best friend Hermione Granger. Like every other misfit and malcontent, Headmaster Dumbledore has admitted off the record that he viewed  Miss Weasley's involvement as no more a threat to the safety of his school than his former Games Keeper, Rubeus Hagrid. Hagrid was the half-giant reported as a danger to the school in an exclusive by the same author three years ago. The half-giant Hagrid died earlier this summer while on holiday. Miss Weasley will not be removed from the school we are told._

_                Harry Potter seems to have a taste for dark women. Not only was his relationship with Miss Weasley long going, when it had ended he immediately involved himself with the daughter of former Death Eater, Lucius Malfoy. Lucilla has already started a life of crime, following in the footsteps of her father, as a spy trailing none other than the Minister of Magic himself. While her father's whereabouts are not known to the author of this article or the editor of the Prophet, his daughter's connections to these crimes likely spell trouble for the wizarding community. _

                Ginny felt the color drain from her cheeks. 

                The door opened admitting Ron and Harry, both of whom started when they saw her holding the paper. 

                "Ginny," Ron asked tentatively, "did Draco Malfoy come back with you? Harry said that Azria told him—," he began.

                "No," Ginny cut him off. Her chest constricted painfully. She tossed the paper into the fire and pushed past them. "I'm late."

                She shut the door and all conversation about Draco Malfoy with it. 

***

                Despite all that had conspired to bring her down this morning, Ginny's face lit up when she saw her friend. 

                Neville was genuinely pleased to see her. That felt good. He always had a way of treating her like no one else existed. He held out a box that was wrapped in gold paper. 

                Ginny took it with a smile and un-wrapped it as they walked. She tried to ignore the looks she got. One witch even stopped her as they walked out of Diagon Alley and asked for her autograph, holding out the same article that she'd read just that morning.

                Neville politely shooed the lady away. 

                "It's a lovely quill, Neville thank you. I'm sorry I didn't get you anything," Ginny said as they turned to stroll down a street into Muggle London. 

                "Don't worry about it. I got this for you a while ago but forgot to give it to you. I know you were writing a story. It's just a bit of encouragement." He stopped and smiled. "I know you write on a computer and all…but I thought you could use a good quill, you know if you want to write at school at all."

                "That's very thoughtful of you," Ginny smiled, taking his arm. 

                His smile fell as they turned to less pleasant matters. "I would ask how your Christmas was…but I guess I read all about it. What's going on, Ginny? Anything I can help with?"

                Ginny bit her lip. "It was all so screwed up. I never believed in fate…do you believe in fate?" she asked. 

                Neville looked at her and smiled. "Sure I do."

                She explained the whole scenario. If Neville was shocked by the traveling to 1352, the child army, her last moments with Draco, he didn't show it. 

                He said finally, "Do you think he's dead?"

                Ginny thought for a moment and said, "I don't think I could give up that easily."

                "What does that mean?" Neville asked. They took a seat in a small café on Upper Street. 

                "It means that I think I'm going to contrive a way to steal my Time-Turner back and look for him. I have to know whether he's dead or alive, Neville."

                He nodded and stared at his food. "I never disliked him the way that Ron and Harry did. Sure, he's an unrelenting bully. I…I kind of sympathized with him. I saw what most people didn't when they first knew him."

                "What was that?" Ginny asked. 

                "He wished he had a family," Neville said simply. "He would scoff if he thought we were in anyway similar, but we are."

                Ginny nodded in agreement. "You are similar, I think."

                Neville smiled, thinking of how ironic that sounded. 

                Ginny moved her food around for a moment more and then dropped her fork. "Oh, I never asked you how your holiday went."

                Neville's face split into an ear-to-ear grin. Ginny couldn't help but smile as well. "My mother said my name for the first time since I can remember yesterday."

                "Oh, Neville," Ginny said, ecstatic, "that's wonderful!"

Thanks To: 

**Sara: I don't need to vocalize everything. You know you are my driving force. (Even though I killed Galahad you still read this stuff). **Oliverwoodsgirl**: Did you think I would leave it there? No. You know my writing well enough to know I'm far from finished. Four chapters left from here. ****Amanda Mancini: "Perfectly described"—thanks for your incredibly lovely review. **Krisalyn**: That's what happens next. I hope it continues to thrill you. ****Jake: I am sorry reading my story made you late for work. But I am so flattered by the comment and happy to have your review. If you are looking for more relevant material to my series I'm writing a Founders' story (_The Unsung Past_), a World War Two drama (_Bells In Winter_), and a story featuring Sirius (_The Way the Window Faces_).  ****Hibiscus: …and do what with Draco once you have him *accidentally* tied up? Maybe I don't want to know. **Balleke**: Thank you for your opinion. The character's name, however, is Faramir not Falamir. I would hardly call this a crossover. I am glad we agree that crossovers are never a good idea. However, Tolkien was a medieval languages scholar and therefore very useful for period names. I also used Eomer and Eowyn. But I am in no way trying to merge the two stories. Please refrain from using all caps in your reviews (it denotes shouting) and swearing at me. That's just not very nice. **


	23. Grace

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of the series. I own the plot only. 

Author's Note: I'm sure I'm really showing my colors as well as my ignorance with this one. I'm not sure how the British system of law works. I have found very little to aid me in accuracy and have drawn largely upon my own knowledge of the American system, John Grisham, and J.K. Rowling's own descriptions of the trials in Book Four: _Goblet of Fire. _I apologize for inaccuracy ahead of time and promise from here on out to be more thorough in research so as not to insult my readers. 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Grace

_"Grace_

_She takes the blame_

_She covers the shame_

_Removes the stain_

_It could be her name_

_Grace_

_It's a name for a girl _

_It's also a thought that _

_Changed the world_

_And when she walks on the street_

_You can hear the strings_

_Grace finds goodness _

_In everything…"_

_U2: 'Grace'_

                He felt the heat from the blaze, the pressure of the roof and stone masonry as it displaced the air in the hall. He had pulled Isaiah's feet clear of the falling debris in time to close the trap door. He found it when in desperation he had looked up to ask God to save her, even if he were not worthy of such grace. Surely she was worth that, someone who had done so much good, who had so much good left to do. 

                Two things happened. 

                He saw an iron ring half concealed in the masonry of the fireplace where Isaiah had fallen and he heard Faramir call out for her. God had given more than grace—he had shown mercy. 

                Draco's faith in a higher power would be unyielding after that moment. 

                Isaiah brought a grasping hand up to Draco's throat and clasped on to the chain-mail and green lined with silver surcoat of Slytherin. He made some indistinguishable gasping noises and his hand went limp. 

                He did not answer Faramir, who did not know that two others lie concealed by the flame. It was selfish not to, he thought at first. But he wanted Ginny to have a fighting chance. She would not have that chance if Faramir felt he had to stay behind for him and for Isaiah. He watched with silent calculations as Faramir lifted Ginny's motionless body into his arms. She was not dead. He had seen her chest rise and fall with breath. 

                Faramir left with Ginny. 

                Pulling Isaiah's massive bulk into a sitting position, Draco bent forward and put his shoulder into the masonry by the ring. It gave an inch. A trapdoor as he suspected. He gritted his teeth and heaved at the stone again. It swung back on rusty hinges. Throwing the remainder of his strength into the effort, he flung Isaiah into the opening of the fireplace-concealed exit. Unsure of where it would lead and without his sword, he cast about for a light and a weapon. 

                Light was easy enough to find. The entire structure was doused in flame. He reached for a large timber with a burning end: a perfect torch. 

                The weapon was found soon after. The sword of Gryffindor lay glittering on the ground where Isaiah had unhanded it. He took it and sheathed it at his waist. 

                A creak announced the impatience of the roof to yield to gravity. With another prayer of thanks, Draco thrust Isaiah further into the tunnel and slammed the door. An enormous clash of stone, timber and iron called out seconds later, telling everyone within five miles' distance that the structure stood no more. 

                He would clamor for miles in dark and damp, struggling all the way with a seriously injured man and a spitting torch threatening the entire way that it would cease to light their path. The dark never felt so penetrating. 

***

                "Hello, Dr. Granger," Ron said, scratching at a thorny stem of one of the dozen roses he had in one hand at his side. The other hand was inside of his pocket clutching nervously at a small box. 

                The woman brightened as she opened the door wider. "Ron, how nice. How was your brother's wedding?" 

                "Who's there, Catherine?" another voice asked from a distant room. 

                "It's Ron, dear," she called back to her husband as she invited Ron in. "Hermione's in her room, dear," Dr. Granger then said to Ron with a bright smile. 

                Ron nodded and ascended the stairs slowly. It was the first time all morning that he'd begun to entertain the idea that she would turn him down. He shook the thought aside, reasoning that she had already said yes. But that was before she wasn't speaking to him. 

                He was in front of her door before he could gather his thoughts. A moment later he gained the composure to knock. 

                Three days since he had spoken to her last and it felt like an eternity. 

                He knocked and the door was opened immediately. Hermione seemed to be on her way out as he knocked. She blinked in surprise and so did he. He hadn't expected to see Hedwig perched on her arm as she stood there. 

                She anticipated his question and answered. "She was bringing me news of Ginny. Has she spoken to anyone yet?" 

                "No," Ron said as he followed her back down the stairs and out the front door. They watched Hedwig fly off in silence before Ron continued. "She met Neville in town for lunch yesterday, other than him…no one."

                 "I tried writing to her about the _Prophet article. I hope she knows that I don't think that she had anything to do with me being petrified in second year. My letter was returned unopened," Hermione said in a hollow voice. _

                "I don't think your letter even reached her," Ron said handing Hermione the flowers. She took them with a smile, continuing down the empty and snowy street alongside Ron. "She wouldn't open the door for anyone or anything until Neville invited her out."

                Hermione smiled. "They understand each other in a way we never could."

                "I should," Ron said in a frustrated tone. "I'm her brother. I should be able to help her."

                "Ron," Hermione answered in a placating tone. "You can't fix everything for everyone. Harry's always going to be in danger, Ginny's always going to be on the verge of a nervous breakdown and I'm always going to be a complicated little witch," she laughed wrapping an arm around his waist. 

                Ron smiled, conceding to that bit of harsh truth. "I wish there was something that I could say to her, though. You know, just to make things a little easier. Malfoy didn't come back. She's not saying much and no one knows anything about what happened back there."

                "And Lucy has to be told something soon," Hermione finished for him. 

                He looked at her and nodded. "It's been three days. No one knows anything. Lucy's trial is in two weeks." He sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "I'm worried about how she'll take it and how Harry will break it to her. It'll be hard."

                "And Ginny?" Hermione asked. 

                "I'm worried about her the most. She's been locked in her room. I can hear the keys of her computer clicking away at all hours of the morning and night. When she comes downstairs for food she looks like she hasn't slept in ages. She ignores everyone. It's worse than it has ever been. When Harry tried to find out what happened to Malfoy he said her eyes just sort of glazed over and she shut herself back in. Then she tore her entire room to pieces."

                Hermione was wide-eyed with astonishment. "Do you think he died back there?"

                "It was 1352, Hermione. I'm surprised that three out of four made it back," Ron said solemnly. "Not that I'm not grateful that they made it back. I am. I just wish for her sake…and for Lucy that he's not dead. But it is the most likely explanation," Ron said. 

                "Poor Ginny. That kid never has a break, does she?" Hermione asked thoughtfully. 

                "Never. Honestly, I don't know how she does it. Being a seer must be a waking nightmare," Ron agreed. "But I've never met a braver person in my life."

                "I'm sure she would love to know that," Hermione said, giving Ron a squeeze. He turned to look at her and nodded. 

                "Oh," he said with a start. "I nearly forgot why I was here."

                "Yeah," Hermione asked with a crooked grin. "Why are you here?"

                "To give you this," Ron answered drawing the small box from his pocket. "And to apologize for being such an idiot. You know I couldn't pick Harry over you."

                Hermione opened the box. It concealed the engagement ring that he'd forgotten to give her three nights ago. "He is your best friend, though," she said. 

                "Yes, but you are my entire life," Ron argued, taking the ring from her and placing it on her finger.

Her hands wrapped around his as she added, "And you are my world, Ron Wealsey. I never want to lose you."

He shook his head. "You never will," he promised. 

***

Harry watched Sirius as he retreated quickly down the sterile white hall of St. Mungo's. 

The orderly let him in. 

Lucy was being kept in a relatively low-security area (low security for a criminal/mental wing of a hospital). The orderly carried a wand and a gun. But Lucy was not treated as a high security risk and in her two weeks stay there she had become the favorite of the staff. 

"Harry, aren't you supposed to be in school?" Lucy asked surprised to see him. 

"Sirius worked it out with Dumbledore," Harry said. 

Lucy sat in her bed with her hands folded in her lap. She stared at Harry who seemed withholding and quiet to her. He would not meet her eyes. 

"Harry? What's wrong?" she asked after a very long silence. 

"Your trial is in two weeks," Harry said with a sigh. 

Lucy nodded. "Yes, I know that."

"So?" 

She blinked. "So what?"

"Why are you going through with this? If you change your plea to not guilty, the courts would have no choice but to let you off. You're a minor and there's no evidence against you that could stand up in court."

Lucy shook her head. It was only a matter of time before this came up. She wasn't sure she could explain this to Harry. It looked to him like defeat. To her it was something entirely different. She looked at him for a long time trying to gauge what his reaction might be. 

"At Ravenclaw's castle, the night you all thought I died," she began slowly. 

Harry took a rigid breath. She knew it was unfair to remind him of that. 

She continued, "I talked to Peter. He was at that point. I saw it in his eyes. He couldn't go on like that anymore. I convinced him that turning himself in would be the first step in making things right. He did that. He faced up to the things he had done."

"He was a coward and he killed himself because he couldn't handle the guilt," Harry spat with disgust. 

"No, Harry," Lucy argued. "He was brave to admit to what he did. It controlled him, every part of him. Peter wasn't Peter anymore. The Peter that killed Mr. Lupin and the Minister and…"

"And my parents," Harry filled in icily. 

"And your parents," Lucy agreed. "That wasn't the Peter that existed when he was friends with Sirius and with your father and with Mr. Lupin. That man was fighting for control after Voldemort had held his strings for so long. I wish you could have seen what I saw. He had finally broken. But in the end…he was brave.

"I would be less than that if I couldn't follow. This was the only way for Peter, to admit his guilt. It was the only way out. And it's the same for me. I would be a coward if I couldn't do that as well," Lucy explained. 

"But this isn't like what Peter did, Lucy. You're innocent. You're lying to them when you say that you are guilty," Harry pursued. 

Lucy put her face in her hands. "Harry," she said through her fingers. "I wish you could understand this. I knew about the children. I knew what my father was doing. Maybe I didn't know enough in time to stop what he was doing to them, but I knew enough to stop what he did to all of those people back there. I knew what my father and Eowyn were planning and yet I stood by and let him. I can't be a coward all of my life while a good man died trying to do what was right, by believing in what I said. I don't want to let Peter down. I don't want to be a hypocrite!" There were tears of anger in her eyes. She couldn't make Harry understand and yet it was the very foundation of her being that she was trying to explain. 

All of her life she had watched wretches like Peter bend under the will of the Dark Lord thinking that she would never be like them, wanting to help them, but remaining at a distance. But she was one of them. There was guilt that she must admit to, and admitting to it would be the only way in which she could hope to set herself free, to redeem herself, to be worthy of being her mother's daughter. 

"So you're going through with this?" Harry asked finally. 

"Yes," Lucy answered solemnly. 

"I can't sit by and watch you hang yourself. I would have thought that you of all people would fight for your life. You're just going to let your father win? You're going to take the blame for everything he's done? Lucy, you could never leave this cell if they find you guilty. They could kill you!" 

"All your life, Harry, you've lived in a world that was plainly black and white, evil and good. It comes easy for you, doing the right thing. That's what I love about you. But you can't possibly know what it's like to live in my world. It's very gray. Nothing is one way or another. Doing what is right and noble is like pushing against a very strong current. To be like you in my world is to fight that current every day of your life every moment fearing that you will be swept away in it. Honor, courage, selflessness, and truth have no place in my world. I'm trying to break that current before it breaks me. If you can't understand that, Harry, then you don't understand me." Lucy said the last part quietly but steadily watching him without feeling as he turned to look at her and then slowly made his way to the door. 

"Lucy, I'm not a hero. I don't do things because their right or because I have a profound sense of the good and just in my blood. I do what I have to do to keep the people I love safe. I don't want you to go through with this. I want…" Harry broke off and shook his head, turning the knob slowly. 

"What do you want?" Lucy asked as he opened the door to leave. 

"I want everything to be normal. I want you to be safe. I want to see my two best friends married and happy, I want Ginny to be able to sleep through the night just once and I want your brother to come back safe to you," Harry said quietly. 

"I want that too, Harry. Someday you'll get what you want, I know you will. Just trust me to do this. I'm not giving up. I'm trying to do what I think is right. Please trust me."

"I do trust you, Lucy," Harry said before shutting the door and walking down the sterile hall to find Sirius. 

***

Neville paused in mid motion. His fork was halfway to his mouth which was hanging open in astonishment. "Are you cr—," he began to say after he'd found his voice. 

"Crazy?" Ginny finished for him. "Yes, I'm starting to think I am, but not about this. Neville, say you'll help me please."

"You want me to distract Snape so you can break into his office and steal your illegal Time-Turner back?" Neville asked incredulously. He gave her a considering look for a moment and then said, "Okay, only because you said please."

"Great! Neville, I owe you," Ginny said as the morning mail came in a flutter of wings and paper. 

Her rare smile faltered as a red envelope fell against her goblet of orange juice. She looked to Neville who picked it up and read the address. 

"It's from your mum," he said. 

"For me or Ron?" she asked with a furrowed brow. 

"You," Neville said handing her the envelope. 

She looked down the length of the table to where Ron was sitting next to Harry who was listening patiently while Hermione chattered on in her usual way. But Ron was staring guiltily in her direction. Ginny needed no more evidence than that to know who had tipped their mother off and about what. 

"You'd better open that and get it over with before it explodes," she vaguely heard Neville say. 

Her eyes never left Ron's as she said, "Oh, I don't need to open it. I know exactly what this is about," removing her wand and setting the envelope on fire. She walked down to the end of the table and threw the flaming piece of red parchment on Ron's half-full plate. 

"Stay the hell out of it, Ron," were her accompanying words. She looked to Harry and Hermione while Ron sat gaping at her with the rest of the hall. "That goes for the two of you as well," she told them before she pushed her way past the large oak doors and out of the hall. 

"Ginny, wait up!" she heard Neville call out behind her. 

She only halted for her friend to catch up after she was well away from the castle. 

"What was that about?" Neville asked as he caught her up by the lake. 

Ginny shrugged. "Probably about me blowing off Care of Magical Creatures yesterday. Ron most likely found out from Colin and told mum about it. I don't know why no one's ever thought about torching the _mothers_ before. Howlers are…what kind of asshole would invent something like that?" She looked at him as she stopped rambling. 

Neville merely blinked and shrugged his shoulders, not accustomed to Ginny's very harsh language under stress. 

"Who cares? Ron is a jerk. Back to business, I don't even know if it's been attempted before, but we have to figure out how to break into Snape's office. It's probably got all kinds of wards on it and all. He strikes me as a pretty paranoid guy. All I need for you to do is to keep him away from his office long enough for me to get in and out. When is your Potions class?" 

"One-thirty," Neville answered in a resigned sort of voice. 

Ginny nodded. "Good. Keep him there. Have him explain a potion that you don't understand. Anything. You're creative, you'll think of something."

"I'll think of something," Neville repeated doubtfully. 

"Thanks," Ginny said kissing him on the cheek and running off to her first class. 

***

Harry wasn't surprised that he and Ron were split up again in Potions class. Ron was paired with Pansy and he was as always paired with Neville. 

This had its advantages, Harry thought. He was worried about Ginny and Neville seemed to be the only person she talked to. 

But Neville seemed to sense this as well and kept thoughtfully to himself. He didn't offer any information on Ginny. 

"Do you know what that Howler was about this morning?" Harry asked as he crushed some beetle eyes and added them to the caldron between them. 

Neville shrugged distractedly. "Doesn't Ron know?" he asked after a moment in thought. 

Harry shook his head. "I didn't know that you could set those on fire," he ventured. 

"Apparently you can. I'll remember that when my grandmother sends me one," Neville said as he casually pushed their steaming caldron full of unfinished potion onto the floor. 

Harry stepped back and blinked at Neville. "Are you feeling all right, Neville?" he asked tentatively. 

Neville nodded and grinned. "Fine," he answered. 

"Longbottom! Potter! Can you not get through one day in my classroom without making a mess and turning your classmates green?" Snape's voice boomed across the room. 

Harry looked at Neville with an eerie unreality. Neville actually found it amusing and endeavored to hide a smile. He set to work eagerly cleaning up mess as Snape grumbled and administered the counter potion to the one they had been brewing. Half of the class had come in contact with their spilled potion and were now glowing. 

Harry bent to help Neville, thinking all the while that Dean may have been right when he said that it seemed crazy was being pumped into the water here like fluoride. 

When the mess had been cleared and Snape had finished lecturing the two about proper care in a laboratory environment they had been immediately sent out of his sight.  Harry saw Ginny waiting in the hall just outside of the classroom. She smiled and winked at Neville, her smile fading when Harry came out behind him. He leveled a cautiously curious look at her but she turned and walked away without a word. 

***

He was close enough to kiss her. And he had wanted to many times before this. 

She looked up at him and took a deep breath. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked one more time just to be sure. 

He nodded, hardly hearing her question. He wondered how much of him he could keep from feeling that selfish tug at the back of his mind that hoped she wouldn't find there what she wanted to find. He knew that she had to go back and make sure one way or another. Would it have been evil of him, he wondered, to hope that Malfoy didn't make it? Neville pushed the thought out of his mind feeling all the worse for having let it enter into his conscience. 

Ginny moved closer and brought a fine gold chain out of her robe pocket. On the end of it was a Time-Turner. She placed it over his head first, her fingers lingering along his collar for a moment. "Thank you for coming with me. I don't think I could go back there on my own."

His hand moved up to touch hers lightly. "I hope you find him," he said. As he said it, he realized that it was true. He meant it. He really and truly hoped that she found him. While all others had been blind to it (willfully or otherwise), he had paid attention to the way Malfoy and Ginny acted around one another, how they exchanged glances, how they fought, how they ignored each other. She was in love with him, Neville knew this. He also knew how much it would kill her if he was gone. And so Neville depended on finding him as much as Ginny did. Her happiness was always his number one concern. 

She smiled and slipped the chain around her own neck and turned the hourglass-shaped charm. 

No longer were they in a forest grown high around a ruined castle wall. There was a castle wall there still, but the stone was yellow and sun bleached, not molded and forgotten under a canopy of leaves. Some parts of the ruined keep beyond were still smoldering. 

He felt Ginny tense against him and lifted the chain from around his neck. Ginny took it off and placed it back in her pocket. 

In a tight and constricted voice she spoke. "There was the last place I saw him. I never dreamed it would look that bad." She pointed to a mound of fallen stone and timber, ash and dust. "I don't even know how I got out of there."

Neville took her trembling hand and said, "Let's just look around. Maybe we can find someone who's seen him."

Ginny turned to her left and to her right. They seemed to be the only two people within miles of here. Two weeks ago this fortress had fallen and now there was no sign of life anywhere. "Let's just split up and search the area first," she said, releasing his hand and walking away toward the crumbled structure. 

Neville followed after her picking his path out slowly from the large fragmented pieces of masonry. He deviated from her path when he saw a group of monks. They were dressed in black and they were chanting. Half of them were stripped to the waist and were lashing themselves with leather whips. Their shoulders and back were bleeding freely. 

Neville moved toward them eagerly but halted in the next second to look back for Ginny. She was wading through knee high debris and stone with a frown on her face, deep in concentration. He turned again and headed for the slow moving group of monks. 

One monk stopped and turned to him. In a solemn tone he offered, "God grant you growth and increase."

"God grant you health and wisdom," Neville said to the monk, understanding Latin well enough to communicate. "Do you know of a foreigner in these parts of fair complexion and hair, speaks in a strange tongue?"

The rest of the monks continued on their way. The one monk stayed behind and eyed Neville suspiciously. "The foreign man that plotted with the Lady Eowyn of Slytherin?" the monk asked with mounting distrust. 

"No, not he," answered Neville clumsily, "much younger."

"The foreigner that fought with Lord Galahad, then?" the monk asked. 

"That is the very same one," Neville answered with a wave of relief. 

The monk indicated a field far off beyond and river and a desolated mill. Carrion swarmed overhead and many monks toiled among dead bodies that littered such an expanse of field that made Neville blink and shudder to behold. "It is unlikely that he has survived when so many have perished, even our Lords Galahad and Isaiah and Brother Mungo of the house of Hufflepuff have perished on that field."

The monk turned to go and Neville was just about to stop him when he heard Ginny calling him. He thanked the monk and turned to meet Ginny where she was running from the ruined Hufflepuff castle. 

"What is it? What did you find?" he asked eagerly. As he approached her he slowed. He was near enough to see tears in her eyes. His heart sank for her as he saw that all she held was a chain of silver. 

To look at it, it meant nothing to him. In fact, the necklace looked like something a girl might wear. He'd never seen Malfoy with it. But Ginny had explained to him through her tears that it had been his sister's and that he had worn it when she died and he had never taken it off, would never take it off for anything.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm so sorry." It was sincere. He never wanted for this to happen. He thought he might have liked Malfoy out of the way. But that would mean hurting Ginny. He realized that whether Malfoy was dead or alive, in 1352 or in the present time, Ginny wouldn't have been happy with Neville under any circumstances. He knew her better than any one. That was why their friendship had been so easy. They understood each other. But she would never love him as she had loved Malfoy and Neville couldn't even work up enough anger at that to hate Malfoy. Because in truth Neville didn't hate Malfoy, he didn't hate anyone. And it wasn't the fault of Malfoy or Ginny. It was his fault. 

He stood there thinking all of this as she cried loudly on his shoulder. He bit his lip hard and put an arm around his friend. Presently she lifted her head and drew the Time-Turner from her pocket. 

"Let's just go," she said. 

***

"Have you seen my sister?" Ron asked, peeking his head into the dorm where Harry sat on his bed taking Transfiguration notes. Seamus looked up from his book as well. Both shook their heads in the negative. 

"Neville?" Ron persisted. 

"No," Harry said. "Did you check the library?" 

"Yes," Ron answered. 

Harry closed his book and followed Ron out of the room. "Just leave her alone for a little while, Ron. She's not going to fall to pieces if she's not in the same room as you are."

"I know that," Ron snapped as they stepped out of the portrait hole. "I just wanted to apologize for the Howler. I didn't know mum was going to do that. I just wrote to her because I was worried about Ginny's missing her classes."

"So she'll get detention, lose house points. Does that really matter to you anymore?" Harry said reasonably. 

"No, it doesn't." Ron paused for a moment and then stopped. "I miss the old Ginny more than ever." 

Harry stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"You should have known her before the whole Chamber of Secrets thing. She was a different person. She wasn't so quiet. And she definitely never tried to kill herself before that," Ron said. 

Harry looked at his feet. "I still can't help but thinking that was partly my fault. He tried to use her to get to me and it ended up ruining her life."

"She's strong though. She's gotten over it. But she's not the same. And it wasn't your fault, Harry," Ron added. 

"I think we've all changed though, not just Ginny." Harry continued down the hall with Ron beside him. 

"Yeah," Ron said. "You used to smile more. Hermione used to be more annoying. Malfoy used to be more of a pain in our ass."

Harry nodded with a smirk. "Do you think he's gone off with his father?"

Ron shook his head and thought. "I don't think he would have left Lucy for anything."

"That's what I think."

Ron looked as though he wanted to say more. 

"What, Ron?" Harry prodded. 

"I don't think he would have left Ginny either," Ron admitted. 

Harry was quiet for a long time and then he said, "I lost her in the woods back there for about ten minutes. He was there. I think they had a fight or something. She wasn't too happy and I didn't make it any easier on her." 

"He's a jerk and he doesn't deserve her, I'm not saying he does," Ron amended. "But I knew it was more than just an interest he had in her when he cornered me and made me tell him about the Truth Serum and everything that happened…you know, when Lucy supposedly died. He knew she wasn't the one who endangered his sister. For her sake, I hope he's not dead."

                Ron turned to Harry, eager to change the subject. Malfoy was neither of their favorite conversations. "I'm coming to the trial on Saturday."

                Harry tensed at the mention. He felt Ron's hand on his shoulder. 

                "She'll get off, Harry. No one can convict her. She's too sweet."

                Harry heaved a sigh. "I hope your right."

                "I am. You'll see," Ron said with confidence. "I made it official. I gave Hermione the ring."

                "When?" Harry asked brightly. 

                "Two weeks ago," Ron said with an ear to ear grin. "She doesn't wear it because you're still the only person who knows. Her parents don't know, my parents don't know. We're waiting for things to settle down before we tell everyone."

                Harry stopped at the bottom of the stairs, looking ahead. 

                Ron looked up from the spot that he as watching on the floor and saw what had stopped Harry: Ginny. 

                She was sitting on the floor of the entrance hall, back against the wall. There was about two inches of ash and mud along the hem of her cloak and robes. Dangling from one hand was the Time-Turner that she had stolen back from Snape. 

                "I'll see you back up stairs," Harry offered, turning and walking back the way they had just come, leaving Ron in the entrance hall with Ginny. 

                Ron stood motionless for sometime not knowing what to say to her. 

                Ginny stared at him with a frown. She had long since stopped crying. The chain felt cold in her hand. She felt nothing, thought nothing, did nothing but sat there. 

                "Was he there?" Ron asked, his voice faltering at the sight of her digressed state. 

                She merely shook her head. 

                Ron came to sit beside her and they were silent for a while longer. The unasked questions and other things unsaid hung tensely in the air between them. 

                "I know you think I'm crazy, just like everyone else. You've put up with more of my crap than anyone else," she began as a tear streamed down her cheek. "I know you've told me a million times not to get involved with him. But, Ron, I loved him even if he didn't love me and now he's gone." She turned her bright brown eyes to him. They were red and washed with tears. 

                Ron shook his head, not having the words to comfort her. He gathered her up in his arms and held her. He could feel her hot tears on his shoulder. 

                "It was my fault. I could have stopped all of this. But I was too afraid. I didn't want to get involved. I never thought that he would get dragged into it all. I didn't think Lucy would. It's my fault she's in jail and…" her sobbing became louder. "And he's dead. I'm so stupid. I could have stopped this and he would still be alive."

                "No," Ron said, finding his voice. "You're not stupid. You're the bravest person I've ever known, Ginny," he said, placing a hand on the back of her head, stroking her hair that was wet with snow. She was shivering, he noticed for the first time. 

                "You're lying," she argued. "I can tell when you're lying, you know."

                "I wouldn't lie to you, Ginny. It must be incredibly hard to carry a gift like that," he said. 

                Ginny wiped her eyes and stood, Ron getting to his feet next to her. "I'm sorry I've been so difficult. I know I've been a real jerk to you," she offered. 

                Ron took her hand. "Don't even think about it. Are you tired?"

                Ginny stared at the floor for a moment. She looked up finally and nodded. They walked the rest of the way to the common room in silence. There was no need for apologies and no question that couldn't wait until morning. When they reached the portrait hole Ginny pulled back, reluctant to go inside. 

                "I don't want to be alone." 

                "You can sleep in Hermione's room," Ron offered. He knocked on the door marked HEAD GIRL. Hermione answered with a smile that faltered when she saw Ginny. 

                "Can Ginny sleep in here?" Ron asked. "I don't want her in a room alone with Nan tonight."

                Hermione nodded eagerly. "Of course, Ginny come in."

                Ginny took a step through the door but turned quickly and flung herself into Ron's arms. Ron was surprised only momentarily but hugged her back and took a deeply contented breath. He smiled. She was coming slowly back to him. Finally. 

                "Goodnight, Ginny. I love you," he said. 

                She smiled. "I love you too, Ron."

***

She hadn't entered this room in over five years. She was surprised that she knew how to find it. She hadn't exactly been in her right frame of mind when she had entered it then. 

It was hard to come in here. It felt like facing years of pent up guilt. She felt an overwhelming sense of shame. 

The floor was dry for the first time since she could remember. Moaning Myrtle had always flooded it. Maybe she had found someplace new to haunt. 

The sink caught her eye and she stared at it for a moment. The way her heart sank was a haunting and sickening feeling. She was actually regretting the loss of Tom. She always would. He really was her first love, after all. 

She couldn't help but wonder if it was actually his doing or her own. Why was it that no other relationship would work for her? 

She broke Neville's heart in her third year, ran away from Harry in her fourth and then there was Draco. He had seemed to see something redeeming in her that the others hadn't. Of course, Harry and Neville would always love her and she them. They were just like brothers to her. But was she looking for what only Tom could give her? And what was that exactly? Was she addicted to the heartache that the memory of him left inside of her? 

Was it because of him that she was desperate for Draco's affection? Did she crave what she couldn't have? She was doomed to hurt like this for the rest of her life because she was never fully certain of his love. It had never been given to her as freely as she always gave it away. And he could never give it to her now. 

She reached around her neck and brought out one of the two chains. She undid the clasp of the silver one. Holding it out in her hand she stared at it and felt tears coming to her eyes. 

Why when she was finally happy had he left her? But that wasn't enough to get rid of her. She followed him, pursued him, never gave up the hope that he might change his mind and come back to her. He saw in her clearly for the first time, that night in the forest, what she had feared he would see: weakness. 

There was a time when that was a characteristic that couldn't possibly describe her. And then there was Tom. And he broke her down to nothing worth having. 

She shook with anger. The points of the fleur-de-lis cut into her palm as she squeezed it tight in her right hand. Her left she opened in front of her, tracing the jagged scar there with her eyes. He hadn't left her unmarked by any means. 

The anger wasn't directed solely at Tom. She was angry with herself. How had she become so desperate for Tom's approval that she would just lay down and die for him like some bloody obedient dog? If only she had been a little stronger, if only she had known what he really was, if only she hadn't been so stupid, so blind…if only…

Her angry brown eyes stared back at her from the mirror above the sink. She knew what it was her reflection was saying: "Blame Tom all you want. But he's not here to pay the consequences. You are, Ginny."

She balled her scarred hand into a fist and brought it hard against the glass, cracking it but not shattering it. Enough to make her bleed, though, and that was really the point. 

She smiled at her fragmented reflection. Harry was right, she thought. "I am a masochist," she said opening her injured hand to examine it. 

"No, you're not," a voice spoke from behind her, causing her to jump. "I was being a jerk. I wanted to say I was sorry that night. But you weren't talking to me. I deserved it. I shouldn't have hurt you like that." 

It was Harry. 

"How did you find me?" she asked, drying her face on the sleeve of her sweater. 

He shoved his hands in his pockets. He was dressed for the trial and so was she. It looked more like they were headed for a funeral. 

"I stopped a moment and thought about where I would go for some quality self-loathing if I were you. Me personally, I would have chosen someplace less…well, bathroom-like." Harry chanced a smile that Ginny returned only briefly before looking away. 

"Tell me honestly, Harry," she begged. 

"Anything," he offered. 

"Am I crazy…am I messed up? Do I hurt other people because I like it?" She looked at him reluctantly. His eyes never moved from hers but he considered these questions for sometime. 

"It's not punishment to love you, Ginny. Your brother loves you, Hermione, your family. I love you. I know Draco loved you despite what he might have told you back there in the forest." Harry stepped into the bathroom fully and let the door shut behind him. 

Ginny opened her hand and held it out to him. 

He saw Lucy's necklace. The one Draco had kept for her. It was black in places like it had been in a fire. There was blood on the points and on Ginny's hand. It was Ginny's blood.

Ginny waited for Harry to take the necklace but he didn't. Instead he reached over the sink and grabbed a towel, wrapping it around the hand that Ginny had smashed against the mirror. 

"I think you hurt yourself more than you hurt the rest of us anyway," Harry said, paying more attention to her wound than to the expression on her face. 

Ginny shook her head. "I don't feel it."

"I do," he said glancing up momentarily. "I know there's nothing I can say now to bring him back, Ginny. But I just wanted to say that I'm sorry about how I treated you when we were back there." He found it hard to look at her and so busied himself with cleaning up her hand. "Once again I owe you my life."

"You don't have to apologize. What you said was true. I didn't tell you what he said to me back there. You guessed it all on your own," she said hollowly. 

Harry furrowed his brow and looked up again. "What do you mean? What did I say?"

"You said that he didn't love me. It was blatantly obvious to everyone but me. I asked him," Ginny admitted in a shaky voice. 

"You asked him if he loved you at a time when admitting that he did would have been tantamount to death for you," Harry explained slowly. "I was being stupid and hurting you because I was angry and frustrated and you were an easy target."

"You're just guessing. You don't know that, Harry," Ginny protested. It seemed to hurt less to think that what she lost had never been real to begin with. His contradictions were crushing her. Her composure crumbled as he explained further. 

"His father threatened Lucy's life if Draco would not obey him. If he was seen anywhere with you that night his father would have killed you as well. Lucy told me," Harry said. "He hurt you not because he enjoyed it, but because he had to, to save you."

Ginny took a breath and shivered. "I wish you hadn't told me that," she said through tears. 

"I'm sorry. I couldn't let you stand there thinking that you're not worth anything to anyone." 

She closed her hand around the charm that belonged to the Ravenclaw heir and took a step toward Harry who put his arms around her and wrapped her in a warm hug. 

"You're the best part of all of us, Ginny. That's not something we, any of us, would give up easily. It must have been very hard for him."

He winced as he heard Ginny give a loud sob but she nodded her comprehension, which made him feel better. 

Minutes later Ginny pulled away from him and dried her eyes. She opened her hand and stared at the burned chain and the charm it held. "Who's going to tell her?"

"I will," Harry said sounding a little less confident than he would have liked. 

***

Lucy was only half paying attention as the jury was being sworn in and paid little more when District Attorney Blair Parkinson made his opening statement. 

Lucy wasn't surprised in him at all. He was playing the "What's in a name?" card. Would the jury, the rest of the courtroom, the judge have been surprised to find out what exactly came with a name like Parkinson? His loyalty was unaffiliated with words like justice, right, and fair. His loyalty to her father was almost like an identity to this man. 

She wondered at her father. Was he so desperate to be rid of her, to shut her away from the world? Did she possess so much knowledge of the man, hold so many of his secrets that he would go to such great lengths; sully his own name and reputation in order to bring her down? In a way, it was a gratification that she had always sought from him. To be so important that he would go to great lengths for her. He had never denied his son anything. It was the sort of attention Draco was used to, tried so hard to distance himself from. Had he only known that he would have had a faithful follower in his daughter…

But he had never wanted her, tried to rid himself of her. And so she was her mother's child only and had been brought up to know that what he was doing was wrong. It could have been so different, she mused. So completely different. 

"Nothing further, your honor," Parkinson said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and the first witness, a technician from the Department for the Illegal Use Of Charms, took his seat. 

She looked around. Harry was not here yet, neither was Ginny. Ron and Hermione returned twin nervous smiles at her which only made her more nervous. She wished she'd had news of her brother. She wanted him here more than anyone else. Perhaps it was best that he did not know. Wherever he was, with her father, maybe, it was better off that he was there than here and worrying about her. 

She chided herself for the many distractions that she let take hold of her and tried to pay more attention to the proceedings…this was her life here that they would be deciding over the next few days. She heard rather than saw Sirius stand up beside her and move to the middle of the courtroom floor. He was frowning over some notes and called "Dr. Grayson Beckett" to the stand. 

"Dr. Beckett, what is your office at the British Museum?" Sirius asked, pacing elegantly in his navy blue robes and polished shoes. 

Dr. Beckett swallowed. He was evidently nervous and had not been used to giving crucial testimony, especially in deciding the fate of one so young. Lucy stared back with an encouraging smile. "I am Chief Advisor on all aspects of the lives and histories of the Founders of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"And in such a position, what are your duties, what are your responsibilities?" Sirius asked. 

"I am required to know the lives of the Founders, their children, etc. Facts, dates. I analyze all new material, findings brought to light in recent years, investigate their validity."

"And you have devoted many years to researching and investigating the history of these people?" Sirius asked. 

"I have made it my life's work," Dr. Beckett answered plainly. 

"Objection," blustered D.A. Parkinson. "Irrelevant information."

"The witness knows the Founders and their history better than anyone in Britain and the relevance of his testimony lies in whether or not he feels that my client has tampered with history in anyway," Sirius argued, turning a frank and patient look on the D.A. 

"Overruled," the judge, a fair-looking and intelligent elderly man, said. "Proceed, councilor."

"And in all of your years at study, Dr. Beckett, have you ever come across any inconsistencies, any glitches in fact that may lead you to think that the past had been altered?" Sirius asked. 

An armed wizard was summoned forward. He held with great care a book, so ancient that it was preserved in a box with tissue and handled only with gloves and an expert's touch. It was set in front of the witness. Dr. Beckett pulled on gloves and uncovered the book. 

"In my first year of graduate studies under my old professor at the Museum, I was privileged enough to be assigned to this artifact. I have gone over it with a fine-toothed comb. There are a few things in here that have baffled historians for centuries."

"For centuries?" Sirius asked with a raise of his eyebrows. 

"This book is the only account we have of the Founders. And it was written by a monk of the local order, wholly unconnected with the Founders. It talks of the great battle that was waged there, on the very grounds of the school. There has been much literature devoted to the four foreigners and their part."

"Foreigners?" 

"And one, speaking in an entirely foreign tongue and dressed in the colors of the Slytherin Legion, charged ahead of the line, even ahead of the standard bearer of that army. He made directly for our lord, Galahad of Ravenclaw. At first I feared for our lord's life. There was urgent intent in the young warrior's eyes. But he called out to our lord and dismounted. I heard not what it was this warrior had said. But it turned the tide of our ever worsening conflict." Dr. Beckett looked up from the book and pulled his reading glasses from his face. "A direct translation."

"And in your expert opinion—," Sirius began to ask. 

"Objection," Parkinson stood and said. "Hearsay." 

Sirius turned to the judge, never missing a step he said, "The witness is an expert in the area of the history that we are debating. His expert opinion is relevant, not hearsay."

"Overruled. Make your point councilor," the judge said. 

"In your expert opinion, Dr. Beckett, given the recent events and the pending guilt of the defendant, what would you conclude was the identity of these foreigners?" 

Dr. Beckett took a deep breath. "I would have to say, given Ms. Malfoy's documented testimony it sounds as if these four foreign characters this book refers to were Ms. Malfoy and her three companions. The warrior in the passage that I read to you matches the testimony that Mr. Potter gave; an account of Ms. Malfoy's brother."

"Where is Mr. Malfoy? Is he here to give witness? Where is his testimony?" the judge asked, looking past Sirius at Lucy. Her eyes fell and she looked at the desk in front of her. 

Sirius cleared his throat. "Draco Malfoy did not return from the year 1352."

The door to the courtroom creaked on old hinges as someone left into the hallway. Lucy swallowed hard and looked behind her. She knew immediately who had left when Ron stood moments later and left the room as well. She caught Harry's eye and he seemed to find it hard to fix an encouraging smile to his face. 

"Councilors, may I see you in my chambers?" the judge finally said. "I would like for Ms. Malfoy to join us. Dr. Beckett, may I see that book of yours?"

Lucy looked to Sirius who nodded. She grabbed her cloak and left the courtroom behind him. The armed guard brought in the book, setting it gently on the judge's mahogany desk. 

"Have a seat, gentlemen," the judge said after the guard left. "Are you fine where you are, Ms. Malfoy?" he asked, indicating her wheelchair. 

"Fine," Lucy said. 

"Where is your brother?" the judge asked finally. 

Sirius sat beside her and nodded when she looked to him for an answer. 

"I-I don't know where he is, your honor. We were separated while we were in the past. I didn't see him after that…and he didn't come back," she answered in a wavering tone.

The judge looked from Lucy to the District Attorney. "I find it hard to decide on the fate of a young girl when the only other person who could clarify for me her willingness in involving herself in this mess is not here. Mr. Parkinson, do you have any idea if there is anyone tracing his whereabouts?"

Parkinson cleared his throat. "No, your honor. I know of no such investigation."

"I am allowing Dr. Beckett's testimony and I am going to ask for a translated copy of this text so that I may look into the matter a little myself." The judge flipped the cover of the jeweled book open and lingered on the first of the illuminated pages. It was a badger, gilt in gold leaf. 

"I am calling for two days' recess in order for you, Mr. Parkinson to find my witness. In the meantime, I will look over this book and you, Ms. Malfoy, I would advise you to think long and hard about what the consequences might be if you hold to your guilty plea. I know that you want to own up to your mistakes. You strike me as a very honest young lady. But do not become over zealous in your need to prove your name wrong." His honest eyes unsettled her, begged her to go easier on herself. Her conscience would not let her yield. She nodded anyway. 

"Your honor, it isn't prudent to council the defendant," Parkinson cut in. 

"I am well aware, councilor, of what is and is not prudent. I would direct the question of prudence at yourself. There is a lot at stake, I am sure, for your winning this trail." He stopped as Parkinson's expression melted into complete astonishment. "Oh yes, I know what this trial is really about. It is not up to me to decide this young lady's fate. That is for the twelve ladies and gentlemen in that courtroom to decide. But I will caution you as to rules of protocol. I will be watching you closely during the proceedings."

"Yes, your honor," Parkinson said, swallowing hard. 

"Find my witness," the judge said. 

"Yes, your honor."

Lucy had been listening, but was distracted when her hand brushed against two forgotten pieces of parchment in her cloak pocket. She withdrew two envelopes while the judge talked to D.A. Parkinson. One was drawn on in the childish scrawl of Gabriel. It was the picture he had drawn for her while she was watching him at the Ministry. She had never realized that he had taken an unopened letter of the Minister's to display his artistic skills. It was addressed in a hand that made her stop and wonder at its contents. It was the handwriting of her father. 

She handed it to Sirius unopened and without a word. 

Turning to the second of the two letters, she remembered this one well. It was in the chapel at Hogsmeade that she had found it addressed to Virginia in a plainly elegant hand that she thought might be Azria's. She pocketed this one again, making a mental note to find Ginny and give it to her when all was over. 

They returned to the courtroom. Lucy saw Ginny and Ron slip in only seconds after she had. 

The judge took his seat at the bench and explained to the observers that the trial would take a forty-eight hour recess. 

The armed guard moved toward Lucy and made to usher her from the court. 

"Please," she said, looking to Sirius to back her up. "May I have a moment?"

"Yes, Ms. Malfoy. I'll be waiting in the lobby," the guard conceded instantly. 

Ginny moved to the bar and pushed the door open tentatively. Harry and Ron were behind her. "You're doing great, Lucy. Hang in there," Ginny said encouragingly. 

"I've been keeping this for you. I found it a while ago and have been meaning to give it to you. Sorry," Lucy said, handing her the piece of ancient parchment. 

Harry moved between Lucy and Ginny and then pulled Sirius off to the side. He brought out the necklace that Ginny had found in the ruins only when he was sure that Lucy was engrossed in other conversations. Hermione was talking adamantly about Dr. Beckett and how helpful he was sure to be. Lucy agreed with an enthusiastic shake of her head. 

Ginny paid attention to none of it. Her breath came in labored gasps and she grasped at the bar for support as she was sure that her knees would give out on her at any moment. She felt her chest heave painfully and her ears buzzed, her cheeks heated and she was in a state of unreality that scared her and thrilled her all at once. 

Sirius moved quickly from Harry and back into the judge's chambers. Soon afterward the judge appeared with him and motioned for Harry and Lucy to join them inside. Sirius was holding the Ravenclaw charm that Draco had worn. 

"D.A. Parkinson," the judge said in a loud enough voice to halt the remainder of the milling crowd. "That search won't be necessary. I have my answer."

Parkinson nodded without the slightest emotion and left the courtroom. 

"Poor Lucy," Hermione said. 

Ginny's head spun. She wanted to explain. She tingled all over with the sheer twilight feeling. "I have to go!" was all she said and sprinted past the unruffled D.A. and out of the courthouse. 


	24. TwentyTwo and TwentyThree

Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the places and characters that I borrow for this story. The situations belong to me. Charles Dickens owns _A Tale of Two Cities. I took passages from pages 347, 348, 350 and 351. The "Do not trust to hope" line is from the fantastic film _The Lord Of the Rings: The ___Two__Towers__. The scene with Molly and Arthur washing dishes was inspired by a scene from the movie _Catch Me If You Can.__

*Major Spoiler: If you haven't read _A Tale of Two Cities _and are planning to at some time, please be forewarned that I am about to blow the ending to this most wonderful story. Read at your own risk. 

Author's Note: Thanks to the readers who've given me some thoughts on the last chapters. Unfortunately I haven't the time to thank you all individually at the moment. I appreciate all of your comments, as you know, and take them all to heart. Linda, welcome back!

Chapter Twenty-Four

Twenty-Two and Twenty-Three

_"A hundred days have made me older _

_Since the last time that I saw your pretty face_

_A thousand lies have made me colder_

_And I don't think I can look at this the same_

_All the miles that separate _

_Disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face_

_I'm here without you baby_

_But you're still on my lonely mind_

_I think about you baby _

_And I dream about you all the time_

_I'm here without you baby _

_But you're still with me in my dreams _

_And tonight, there's only you and me…"_

_Three Doors Down: 'Here Without You'_

_"You gave me no choice. He's going to kill her if I don't jump through his hoops. I have you to thank for that."_

_"Draco, that's bullshit! Stop hiding behind your sister and grow a backbone damn it! You still have a choice. Come with me," Ginny said. _

_"God, you are so dim. I said that he will kill her. My father has Lucy right now. All he has to do is say the word and Eowyn will kill her." He plucked at the surcoat in green and silver that covered his chest. "Besides, it looks as if I've already chosen."_

_"You're giving up then?" she asked. _

_"No, I'm being smart. You should too. Go home. You've done enough."_

_"I'm not going anywhere. I have people relying on me. They need me and I'm not going to abandon them," she said accusingly. _

_Draco__ snorted and placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. "You've never been let down by anyone, have you?"_

_"Just myself," Ginny answered. "And you have always been let down by people, haven't you?" _

_"Everyone but myself," Draco replied, mocking her. "You're wasting my time," he continued, making to turn away and leave her. _

_"Wait!" Ginny called out urgently behind him. _

_He turned. "What?"_

_"There's just something I want to know. One thing. And then you can go your way and I'll go mine. I promise."_

_"What's that?" he asked, becoming impatient. _

_"That night, the last time you left me…did you say anything? I might have been sleeping. I thought—," Ginny began. _

_"No. You must have been dreaming. I left and I thought it had been for good. But you keep following me for some reason," Draco answered in more of a barbed tone than he intended. _

_"So, that's it then. That's what I wanted to know," she replied, obviously disappointed. _

_"And now you know. Goodbye," Draco turned and this time she let him walk away. _

_That was it. _

It was the same dream that had haunted him for weeks. At least when he had accompanied the Lady Maren to Ireland to bury her brother, he hadn't had the time to sleep, nor the time to dream of her. Now he was back and the memory of her—her face, her sad eyes as he lied to her—seared a painful void in his heart. And he would never see her again, never have the chance to make things right. 

He sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. 

He wouldn't be getting anymore sleep tonight. 

Suiting up and pulling on his boots, he wondered why it was that he just hadn't told her the simple truth. He had told her that he loved her, and that was what she wanted to hear. But he couldn't say it. His father's threats had rung too heavily in his ears, drowning out her pleas. He had to hurt her. But now, looking back on it, he wasn't so sure that he needed to be so cruel. 

As quietly as he could, he walked down to the entrance hall and out of the castle to the stables. 

There was an eerie mist hanging over the battlefield, just recently cleared of its ghastly inhabitants. How long it had taken them to bury the thousands of dead that had lain there, he shuddered at the thought. 

His horse, it had once been Galahad's, perked up her ears when she saw him. Erindil was her name and she was a clean gray Destrier, beloved by her late owner. 

In a moment he had her saddled and headed off toward the one place that could give him comfort, the chapel in the wood. 

He rode Erindil, hardly noticing her speed. She expertly dodged trees and fallen branches, rocks and other obstacles all of her own accord. She need not be steered. She knew these paths well and treaded them often. 

He had gotten to know this path well enough also. He had come here most every night in search of solace, only a piece of which could be had here. It never came completely when he was this far separated from her. 

Inside the ethereal glow of the chapel with its stained glass backlit by moonlight, he came to the altar which held a gilt crucifix. Studying it for a moment Draco saw the most pitying gaze he had ever met with in his life. Jesus on the cross stared back at him with a compassion and understanding that he had never beheld in all his years. Reluctantly he took his eyes from the figure and knelt, crossing himself as he did. 

He knew that she was safe and that his sister and Harry had gotten out fine, but he prayed for their continuing safety anyway. It had become a habit for him. 

"Dear Father," he prayed, the words sounding almost alien to his ears, it didn't even sound like his voice. "I am undeserving of a lot of things. But Ginny is a good person and deserves to be happy. I know that they probably think I'm dead by now. Ginny must have told them. And it would be too much to presume that she's miserable without me. And I don't want her to be. Even though I am dying to be near her again, please Father, let her forget me and live the rest of her days in peace. I know that I do not deserve such a kindness as I ask for her, yet, I am not even sure that I want such a kindness. The memory of her is painful and yet it is all I have and still very precious to me." He stopped a moment and looked at the gilt face one more time. "But I know that no memory of what I said to her or how I treated her could be of any value to her. Forgive me for treating her so, Father. I never thought it would have been the last time that I ever saw her."

He pushed away from the altar and stood. He turned slowly and walked down the lone isle of the chapel moving clear of the celestial reach of the moon-colored light. 

A monk had come here earlier in the day and had left some materials from the order's scriptorium. Among them were a few sheets of parchment and a quill in an ink bottle. Not in the least eager to leave, Draco sat down in front to the materials and looked over a few drying sheets, The Gospel of Luke. 

Minutes later Draco picked up the quill and pulled a new sheet in front of him. Without even thinking about it he began to compose a letter. 

***

Ginny blinked as her stinging eyes focused on the paper. 

Her heart skipped a beat. She knew this writing. 

Weaving precariously, she reached out one trembling hand and grasped the bar. Faint sounds of Ron and Hermione talking with Lucy were drowned out by a deafening ringing. Her head swam and her knees felt weak but she held fast to the bar in front of her and forced herself to breathe and to read. 

_Ginny, the letter started. _

_These words will never reach you as you are thousands of lifetimes away from me now. Still, the lies make me cold. The lies that I told you, I regret them now—I have almost since the moment I spoke them. I want you to know that to leave you was the hardest thing I ever did. The fact that when I saw you last I broke your heart has given me little hope that you would ever forgive me. I'm here without you, in a beautiful chapel, moonlit and stained in jewel tones, the sounds of a forest at _midnight___ echoing a thousand songs. Here you have a monopoly on my thoughts. Here time disappears and I dream of your face, smiling the way you did when I played for you, before I broke your heart, before I made you cry. I wish you could know what I would give up to have you with me again. I wish that I had the chance to at least say that I am sorry I lied, I hurt you. It wasn't a dream.  I don't know how I, knowing that I'm in love with you, could have hurt you. I guess I thought I was protecting you. Tante que je vis je t'aimerai._

            There was no name at the bottom of the letter. Ginny knew who had written it anyway. 

                She wanted to call out to Lucy and show her the letter. But she couldn't find her voice and she couldn't make her eyes leave the parchment. 

                With as much resolve as she could manage, Ginny pushed herself away from the bar and past the D.A. She bolted down the hall, bringing the Time-Turner out of her blouse. 

                "Hey, Red," an incredibly poncy young man said, stepping in front of Ginny and blocking her path. "Where's the fire?" 

                Ginny tried to side step him, but he moved again, blocking the door. She was impatient and growing angry. 

                "What's the rush, Red?" he asked, very sure of himself. 

                "It's Ginny and I'm late," she said politely. 

                "I'm Roger, Roger Davies. Ginny, a lovely name for a lov—," he began, but Ginny didn't wait for the sad ending to that pickup line. 

                "Sorry," she said as she removed her wand, reveling in the shocked look in his eyes when she uttered the hurried Full Body Bind Curse. "Petrificus Totalus!"

                He smacked the ground with a deserving thwap that made Ginny smile slightly before running the rest of the way to the doors. 

                Several guards had seen her curse Roger and were calling after her. 

                But she was gone without a trace the moment they followed her from the courthouse. 

***

                Sirius had not been prepared for what he found inside of that envelope Lucy had handed him. Beneath the childish scrawl and illegible pictures that Gabriel had littered one side with lie the one thing that could put Minister Solomon in Lucy's spot. 

                His heart raced as he made his way from the courtroom. He agonized over whether or not he should leave Lucy alone after what she had just been told about her brother. But it seemed as if she had expected it rather than feared it. The grief was evident on her face but there were no tears. It was almost as if she was suspending the reality of it all. She left with the guard and asked Harry not to come with her. 

                Sirius had to believe that she would be fine on her own for a bit. 

                Time was of the utmost importance if he was to be any sort of help to her. 

                The lights came on in the vacant office. 

                The Minister's face upon entering the room would suggest that Sirius was the last person that he expected to see there at that moment. 

                Sirius was sitting in a dark corner. 

                Everything was in place. 

                He had contacted Arthur and Jill at the Ministry. They had cornered their respective Death Eater spies and one of them had talked. 

                They would have their man now. 

                "Black," the Minister said, trying his best to sound put off. "I really don't have the time for a chat now.  I've business to see to."

                "No doubt you do. You are a very busy and powerful man. Busy doing Malfoy's bidding and powerful only by his grace," Sirius said, gauging Grey's expression as he said this. "It is a dangerous game you're playing, Sol. Do you really think that Lucius Malfoy would give you a second thought when he's through with you? That will be exactly what happens once his daughter is in prison. You will lose your purpose, which was, after all, to make sure that's exactly where she ended up, and he will dispose of you in the least costly way possible. I imagine that might involve nothing more than a heavy chain, a cinder block," he stopped and surveyed the portly Minister who was shifting his weight nervously, "maybe a few cinder blocks in your case, and the Thames. And months after your meaningless life has ebbed away at the bottom of the polluted river, your rotting, gray-hued carcass will find its way to the surface. But by that time, Minister, no one will care what great policies you've ushered in or what powerful backer you've represented. There will always be someone else ready to take your place, Minister. You are very disposable."

                The Minister swallowed hard. "Mr. Black, I don't know what kind of games you're playing at, but I assure you I don't know what—," he said. 

                "Don't know what I'm talking about?" Sirius asked, unfolding the letter that had never reached the Minister. He apparently recognized the handwriting. "A Mr. David Torrell and a Ms. Evelyn Milton have already assured me that you know very well what I am talking about."

                The Minister drew himself up to what he hoped was an intimidating height. Sirius was unmoved by the theatrics and watched him with calculating eyes as he took his seat behind his desk. "I could have you removed from my office in the blink of an eye. Breaking and entering was still a punishable offense last time I checked," the Minister blustered. 

                "So was kidnapping, fraud, murder and aiding and abetting a wanted criminal last time I checked, Minister," Sirius countered. 

                "You have nothing on me!" he answered, leaning over his desk and glaring at Sirius. 

                "I have enough on you to persuade you to intervene on my client's behalf," Sirius argued. 

                The Minister leaned back slowly, considering. "I know nothing. I'm just here to make sure that the legal ends are tied."

                "Yes, those were Lucius' intentions when he set you up as Minister," Sirius said calmly. "He stacked the polls in your favor. No wonder you took Britain by surprise when you were named Minister. No one knew who you were until Lucius Malfoy picked you to be his front man. That's a very difficult position you've found yourself in, Minister. Power is addictive, isn't it? You wanted to stop when it got too hot, but you couldn't, could you? What did he do? Threaten your life? Set his hounds on you?" Sirius smiled. 

                The Minister's eyes narrowed. "What do you think it is that you can do to me, Mr. Black? Arrest me? I am in command of the Ministry of Law Enforcement, David Torrell works for me."

                "Interesting," Sirius said slowly. "He told me that it was Lucius Malfoy that he worked for. Your name never came up."

                The Minister blinked. "Our Minister of Law Enforcement is a puppet of Lucius Malfoy?" he asked in surprise, or what he thought was a good impression of it. 

                "Yes," Sirius said slowly, trying to hide his amusement. "A few people have been suspected—few but in very powerful positions. The Minister of Law Enforcement, Secretary to the Minister, The Minister of Magic himself." 

                "That's slander, boy, and I'll have your license to practice law for that," the Minister raged. 

                "I don't think you will," Sirius answered decisively. "David Torrell, or should I say Jean-Paul Lestrange, is willing to sell you out for his freedom and that of his wife." He stood and neared Solomon Grey's desk. "We have him on nothing more than consorting with criminals. But his wife, on the other hand," Sirius began. 

                "Evelyn Milton has always been a model employee. She is not who you say she is. She is an old woman. She will retire next year. You couldn't possibly have anything on her," the Minister said, breathless. 

                "We have plenty. And she is not an infirm old lady. She is Cordillia Lestrange. And she's in far worse trouble than her husband," Sirius leaned on the desk and threw Lucius' letter to the Minister who picked it up like it was a hot coal. 

                "Trouble, such as…?" the Minister said, surveying the letter with mounting terror. 

                "Kidnapping. She's the one who took Jill Parry's son, isn't she?" Sirius said. "After all, you never even saw the child before he was taken. But your assistant, Ruthie James, was watching Gabriel for Mrs. Parry. Evelyn Milton saw him and immediately knew that he was the one that Lucius Malfoy sought."

                "That's right, Milton, Lestrange took the child," the Minister said, caving under possible pleas to his innocence. "I am not guilty. My employees have duped me. I can't believe Ms. Milton…she's one of…" 

                "You knew who she was. You knew who Torrell was. How many more of you are there in the Ministry?" 

                The Minister thought about this for a moment. 

                "She will be convicted if she goes to trial. There is no doubt about it. And I don't think that Lucius Malfoy would care enough to send his top council, the D.A. to save her."

                He gauged Grey's eyes. They seemed to widen only slightly at the realization. 

                "She's killed a small girl to get to the boy. She will hang for this. She and her husband are willing to cut deals…do you know who they agreed to sell out?" he asked patiently. 

                He waited for Grey's reply, but the Minister didn't have one. His eyes lowered slowly to the paper in hand and surveyed it. 

                "I see by your expression that you know perfectly well who. And that letter is just as good as proof that your master, to whom you've been so loyal, would just as soon see you rot in place of all of them. Lucius Malfoy had planned to be long gone, in another world by now. That letter was meant to be found. And your assistant found it, Ruthie James, or should I say Lucilla Malfoy. She was working with us as a spy," Sirius smiled with the triumph. 

                "She's going to prison for crimes she's committed. I can do nothing for her," the Minister said, worming his way into the position of the innocent. 

                "No," Sirius said decidedly. "You will take her place. You are the one responsible for the abduction of those thousands of children," he pointed to the letter in front of Grey. "Thousands of children, sadly, that died in your master's employ. Your entourage of spies, the Lestranges, will go back to Azkaban where they never should have left."

                "The girl will still hang. That jury will convict her in a second because of her name, who her father is. That name may have been tantamount to power and privilege at one time. But it's a scarlet letter now. She'll never walk out of there."

                Sirius blinked. "She will face lesser charges now that the right criminals will stand for their own crimes. Leave her defense to me. She will win this. And you will go to jail."

                The Minister stood and began to form an argument. He was cut off as the door opened behind him, admitting three persons. 

                A hit wizard, with wand trained, came through the door. 

                The Minister furrowed his brow in annoyance. "Stand down, officer! This is your Commander speaking! Stand down!" 

                The wizard moved toward the Minister heedless of the command. He removed the Minister's wand and cuffed him with his hands behind his back in bonds of iron sealed with a spell—unbreakable. 

                Officer Moody of the Ministry of Aurors entered next to take custody of the Minister and Dumbledore after him. 

                "I'll question him myself, Sirius," Moody said making a theatrical show of cracking his knuckles.

                Dumbledore placed a gentle hand on Sirius' tense shoulder and said, "The others are in custody. This is the end of it, Sirius."

                Sirius felt a huge weight lift at these words. They had false hope that the end would come with the fall of Voldemort. But Lucius Malfoy immediately took his place. "Who will it be next time?" Sirius asked solemnly. 

                "There will always be those who would seek to place other, good, honest people under their boot as if they were nothing. Selfishness, pride, deceit…as long as these vices are in the world, Sirius, so will those who promote them be. We cannot hope to annihilate evil, just contain it…and it is an everlasting struggle…an epic struggle." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled with that long-forgotten hope that once exuded his persona. Sirius turned weary and hopeless to his old Headmaster and nodded. He wanted so desperately for this to be the end once and for all. 

                The old man put a hand on either of his former student's shoulders and smiled at him as he surveyed his tired and worn face, his dark eyes hooded from lack of sleep and worry. He had always taken great care to worry over those he loved—a great preserver of justice and right. The world was lucky, Dumbledore thought, to have been so mistaken in this man. 

                As the Minister of Magic was being led from his office into a holding cell for further questioning, Moody picked up the letter addressed to Solomon Grey from Lucius Malfoy with gloved hands and placed it carefully into an evidence bag. With the smile of a hunting dog close on a trail, the wizened Auror left them. 

                "Your friends, all of them, lost to the battle for right and wrong, would be pleased to see what you have become, my friend. Your mother would have been proud, your father would have been proud," Dumbledore said with a smile. 

                Sirius said nothing. Those words were painful, at the same moment uplifting. He nodded and handed the Minister's wand over to the Headmaster.  

                "Now go and do what you can for the girl. Her future rests solely in your capable hands." The wise voice of the old man glittered with unfounded hope. Sirius wasn't so sure of his capabilities, but Dumbledore's assurance was more than enough to motivate him. 

                He nodded again and left the Headmaster alone in the vacant office of the Minister of Magic. 

***

                It was her appearance that had first made her nervous. But she quickly shrugged off the thought. Everyone here already knew who and what she was. Dressing like them wouldn't change that. 

                She slipped her hand into her pocket and felt the reassuring crinkle of parchment. She wasn't sure where to look, but she knew she would find him here, somewhere. 

                She came to the ruined bridge and mill that was now a burned shadow of its former self. Ginny smiled, remembering a time when she and Lucy had done their own damage to that mill. 

                Scanning the horizon, the sun sinking behind the Hebrides, and a chill moving along the lower lands, she shivered and shook her head mournfully. There seemed to be no one inhabiting this land anymore. How was she going to find him when all around her for miles the only thing she saw was graves?

                Slowly she made her way through the tilled earth of mass graves, rows and rows. A grave digger looked up and leaned heavily, wearily on his shovel. 

                "May I be of some service, lady?" She just barely made out his meaning in garbled Latin. Her command over it wasn't pristine by any means. His accent made it harder. 

                "I am looking for a foreigner, a guest of the house of Ravenclaw. He has fair hair and is about your height, sir," Ginny explained, nervously shifting her weight from foot to foot. She noticed how he scrutinized her pleated gray skirt and her green sweater, seemed interested in the way her shoes left even patterns in the disturbed earth. 

                "The Lady Maren of Ravenclaw has left these parts months ago. She has taken her brother with her and buried him in Eire. There is no one here but the dead and those that bury them, lady," the man said in a gruff tone, as if Ginny's presence offended him. 

                Her resolute expression fell and she looked at her shoes. She removed the letter and read the lines again, wondering if she could have been mistaken in the writer. Her lip quivered, but she bit it and folded the letter again. 

                The man halted his digging for a second time and leaned toward her. "Look for your friend," he said in a more gentle voice. "But do not trust to hope." He scanned the horizon as she had done, but didn't find promise lining the mountains as she had. "It has forsaken these lands."

                Ginny nodded and left the man to his work. 

                Dusk was settling and she had found no more signs of the living after leaving the digger. She was wandering more than looking for anything. She was surprised when she had made her way unknowingly to the chapel on the outskirts of the forest. But there was an addition to the chapel as she remembered it in her own time. The doors were open and from the doorway, Ginny could see a sarcophagus. 

                She knew who this was who had been laid to rest here in the quiet and pious shrine in the woods. 

                Unblinkingly, Ginny stared at the stone face, her feet echoing as she moved into the cavernous space. She placed a tentative hand on the likeness of the face of her friend. Mungo had been laid to rest here. She was unprepared for this realization. She remembered the gentleness with which he cared for the fallen soldiers, the unconditional faithfulness that he exuded. He died to make the death of his friend a little easier. Ginny placed a trembling hand over Mungo's folded across his chest. 

                It was nearly ten minutes and hundreds of tears before she was startled out of a prayer that asked God to judge her friend kindly. She had never met a better person in life and prayed that he be exalted as the best of men in the hereafter. 

                She turned around, startled by footsteps, pressing herself against the stone coffin. Her heart beat and she was terrified that someone had followed her. 

                The look on his face when he saw her told her immediately that she was the last person he expected to see there. 

***

                Draco saw someone enter the chapel and out of paranoid habit drew his sword, the sword he had carried with him since Isaiah died, Gryffindor's sword. 

                On one occasion, Eowyn Slytherin had sent her spies into the area to defile Mungo's resting place. Draco, by default, had become the protector of his remains and was dedicated to this work fully. 

                But when he came to the entrance of the chapel, he wasn't met with the hostile resistance that he thought he would face. He was met with a pair of frightened brown eyes set wide in a face that had haunted his dreams since she had left him. 

                It was Ginny. 

                Draco was forced to his knees, fearing that his dreaming had become too much a part of reality. If she was and apparition, a figment and would soon disappear, Draco feared he would be driven mad by the loss of her again. He leaned on Isaiah's sword, feeling his strength leave as his heart pounded faster. 

                She didn't speak. She just stared. 

                He must be imagining things. 

                Draco found his voice. He couldn't let this moment, to know the truth, to cling to hope for one more instant, pass him by. "I am dreaming," he said faintly. It was more of a statement than a question. 

                Her terrified expression melted into a smile. "No," she said, laughing at him, "You're not dreaming. I'm here."

                Draco stood slowly and sheathed his sword. He moved tentatively into the chapel, carefully, afraid that he would frighten the dream away, even though she insisted she was real. Too often had his dreams reassured him of such unreality.  

                "Why have you come," he said, endeavoring to gain control of his trembling voice. 

                "I…" she said, her smile falling. "Draco, what's wrong? You're shaking and you look at me as if you don't know me."

                Draco shook his head. "I know this dream far too well. In a moment I will try to touch your hand and you will vanish, leaving me here," he answered bitterly. 

                Ginny rested pitying eyes on him. "Then touch me. I am not a dream." She held out her hand insistently. 

                Draco neared slowly, looking to Ginny like a frightened deer. He reached out a hand only centimeters from her and then drew back. "No," he said, tormented. He retreated to the doorway of the chapel. "I'd rather have you with me for a little while longer than have you vanish when I draw too close."

                Ginny swallowed. Pushing herself away from the coffin she quickly paced the floor until she was inches from him. He tried to move away from her again, but Ginny reached out a hand and touched his cheek. 

                He only flinched for a second, but there was no doubt that he could feel her touch and she trembled as much as he did. She leaned forward and kissed him and did not vanish. 

                Draco moved closer, filling the space left between them and wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer to him. 

                Ginny pulled her head back, breaking their kiss reluctantly and asked, "Was that real enough for you?"

                Draco nodded speechlessly and kissed her again. 

                "How did you find me?" he asked a few moments later. "I assumed you all thought I was dead."

                "I would have felt it if you had died. But I felt hope that I would see you again. And then there was this," she answered, drawing out a much abused piece of parchment. 

                "My letter. How did you find that?" Draco asked, shocked. 

                "I thought it was my letter," Ginny said, smiling. 

                "Yes, of course it is. But I never met for you to read it. How did you—," Draco asked but was silenced when Ginny turned it over and he recognized the handwriting that addressed it to her. Azria had sent it. 

                "I threw that away. She must have found it. But how did she—," Draco asked again.

                "Lucy found it one day when she was in the chapel. Is this oilskin?" Ginny asked, rubbing the page between finger and thumb. 

                "I stole it from a monk at the scriptorium," Draco nodded with a smile. 

                Ginny smiled too. "Then there's your answer. Azria placed it in a niche where no one would find it until Lucy came along. She only just gave it to me, but she's had it for a while."

                "How is Lucy?" Draco asked eagerly. 

                Ginny looked down at her feet before answering. This made Draco infinitely nervous. "Your father," Ginny began, casting a tentative glance at Draco, whose eyes were wide with worry. 

                "What about my father?" Draco asked with dread. 

                "He's had her arrested. She's standing trial. It's in a recess right now. But the judge is a lenient one and I think she'll get off."

                Draco's fingers were digging into her shoulders and Ginny cringed unconsciously. Draco loosened his grip on her and asked, "Who's the prosecutor?" 

                "Blair Parkinson," Ginny stated. 

                "Oh, God!" He grabbed her hand and pulled her from the chapel. "Come on. Do you have the Time-Turner?" 

                She nodded. 

                "We have to get to Azria. I have to let her know I am leaving." Draco led her to where his horse was tied. 

                She stopped and looked at it warily. 

                Draco turned around, frustrated. "Can't you ride?" he asked. 

                "In this?" Ginny said, plucking at her skirt. 

                "Yes," Draco said in a hassled tone. He mounted and reached for her hand. 

                Ginny gave a small resigned sigh and humored him. 

                They rode to the castle, Hogwarts, weaving through furrows of soon-to-be-graves. Most of the bodies had been laid to rest already. Soon, the battle would be nothing more than a history, etched on pages and in the minds of those who lived it. 

                Inside the castle, Draco asked to see the Lady Azria, but was told that she was unavailable. 

                "Sir Guy, then," Draco asked impatiently of the servant. The household was relatively small. Few survived the battle and the Ravenclaw entourage had left for their home in Ireland. 

                The servant led them to the weapons room where Sir Guy was cleaning his crossbow. He looked up and was not at all surprised to see either one of them. 

                "Draco, did you have a pleasant ride?" Sir Guy asked. 

                "Yes, thank you. I have to go home. That is what I came to tell you. My sister is in trouble there and Ginny has come to bring me home."

                "Yes, Azria saw this in her mind's eye," Sir Guy said evenly. 

                Azria walked in urgently at that moment. 

                "Virginia!" she said, embracing her heir. "You have come for Draco?"

                "Yes," Ginny said with a smile. "We will be leaving as soon as we can be ready."

                "I cannot stay longer, lady, though I regret leaving you both," Draco said solemnly. 

                Azria nodded and looked to Sir Guy. "Your sister needs you. For that, you can surely be spared." She leaned forward and kissed Draco's forehead.

                "Go with God," she said to them both with a smile. "I would not keep you here," she said solemnly, looking to Ginny, "When your families will be in need of you the most."

                "Goodbye, lady," Ginny said with a sense of unease. Draco looked between the two of them but said nothing. 

                They left the castle so that Draco could say goodbye to Erindil, handing her off to a stable boy and watching her go with a look of regret. "I will miss her."

                Ginny smiled and rubbed his shoulder. "You still have Emile, though."

                Draco smiled and nodded. "Let's go home," he said finally. 

***

                Lucy sat with her back to the door. She would see no visitor and would not leave her cell until the recess broke and she was again at trial tomorrow. 

                Instead she turned to her much worn copy of _A Tale of Two Cities_. Like a lot of things she owned, this book once was a favorite of her mother's. 

                She had stayed awake all night, reading through the familiar language and phrases in a binge-like fashion. She had not wanted to believe her brother was dead. But, as a pragmatist, she had to own to it as being the most likely of possibilities. 

                The door opened. Lucy felt like screaming at the guard. She had specifically said no one was to come in. 

                "Lucy?" it was Ginny's voice. The one person she was angry with and the one person that she didn't want to see. She gritted her teeth to keep from saying something rude, didn't turn around, only asked Ginny to leave. She was satisfied to hear the door close behind her without a word. She returned to her book. 

                _No! the great magician who majestically works out the appointed order of the Creator, never reverses his transformations._

                This was the part that stirred her, made her want to turn back and start again and never read the ending. She never wanted the ending to come. She had always thought that there was another way for Sydney Carton. Sometimes she would think up an alternate ending, less eloquent, short of the poignant morals of Dickens' grandeur. But she never wanted him to die. The ending, in Dickens' words, was hopeful, though. It was this hope that kept her from turning back every single time. 

                Another voice picked up where her reading left off. 

                _"If thou be changed to this shape by the will of God," say the seers to the enchanted, in the wise Arabian stories, "then remain so! But, if thou wear this form through mere passing conjuration, then resume thy former aspect!" Changeless and hopeless, the tumbrels roll along.' _

                Lucy jumped with the sound of the voice and turned around. She thought she was alone. Never had she expected to hear or see her brother again. 

                He smiled as she stared at him in shock. 

                "Then how does it continue?" he asked, sitting next to her on her hospital bed. 

                She put a hand to her cheek and felt a tear there. She hadn't read it as many times as Draco. Though she had gotten to know many passages by heart, she hadn't committed the book to memory as he had. 

                _"The leading curiosity is, to know which is he; he stands at the back of the tumbrel with his head bent down, to converse with a mere girl who sits on the side of the cart, and holds his hand. He has no curiosity or care for the scene about him, and always speaks to the girl. Here and there in the long street of St. Honore, cries are raised against him. If they move him at all, it is only to a quiet smile, as he shakes his hair a little more loosely about his face. He cannot easily touch his face, his arms are bound," Lucy read, looking up when she was finished. _

                _"The supposed Everemonde descends, and the seamstress is lifted out next after him. He has not relinquished her patient hand in getting out, but still holds it as he promised. He gently places her with her back to the crash engine that constantly whirrs up and falls, and she looks into his face and thanks him. "But for you, dear stranger, I should not be so composed, for I am naturally a poor little thing, faint of heart; nor should I have been able to raise my thoughts to Him who was put to death, that we might have comfort here today. I think you were sent to me by Heaven.'" Draco looked earnestly into his sister's pale blue eyes as he said this, taking her hand in his and smiling as if the seamstress' words were his own. _

                Lucy broke the stare reluctantly as she read: _"Or you to me," says Sydney Carton. "Keep your eyes upon me, dear child, and mind no other object." _

_                "I mind nothing while I hold your hand. I shall mind nothing when I let it go, if they are rapid. Fear not!"_

                Draco smiled and squeezed her hand. Lucy reached up with the other and wiped away a tear. 

                _"She kisses his lips; he kisses hers; they solemnly bless each other. The spare hand does not tremble as he releases it; nothing worse than a sweet, bright constancy is in the patient face. She goes next before him—is gone, the knitting-women count Twenty-Two." Draco reached over and shut her book. They both knew the last part, as anyone who has ever fallen in love with Dickens knows it. _

                They looked into each other's eyes and both spoke the words. _"I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die." The murmuring of many voices, the upturning of many faces, the pressing on of many footsteps in the outskirts of the crowd, so that it swells forward in a mass, like one great heave of water, all flashes away. Twenty-Three."_

_                "I'm sorry that I wasn't here to hold your hand, Lucy," Draco said in a small voice. _

                "And I'm sorry that I wasn't there to hold yours, Draco," Lucy answered. 

                Draco looked at her with a start. "But you were, Lucy, even when I didn't know it. You were there. You are always with me." He pulled her into a tight embrace, kissing her cheek. 

                She smiled and rested her head on his shoulder, overjoyed to have him back. "I suppose I would be number Twenty-Two?" she asked. 

                "No," Draco said earnestly. "You are Twenty-Three, Sydney Carton. I am like the seamstress, drawing strength from you, my rock, my Lucy. And I will always go before you, die before you. And she was right, you were sent to me by Heaven." 

                Lucy smiled and kissed her brother's hand in hers. 

***

                The house had stopped its bustling around nine-thirty. 

                Draco had never seen a place that whirled with so much exuberant life. When he had last seen the Burrow he had thought that it was a tacky, squalid sort of habitation that he was more than eager to get out of at once. 

                Upon inspection of the many rooms that seemed to be added on as they were needed, the family photographs and the people that lived there, he found it to be warm and welcoming and everything that his own childhood home had been lacking. 

                Afraid of being shooed away immediately, even after Lucy's assurances that the Weasleys would never do that, Draco had vehemently turned Ginny down on the offer to stay with her. Potter and Weasley had insisted further, saying that going to his own home would be far too dangerous. 

                "Your father is still out there, you know," came Ginny's gentle reasoning. She placed a hand on his arm and pleaded with her eyes. He had agreed immediately, though he had reservations. 

                Outside of Lucy's room at the hospital, Draco unlatched the scabbard that held the sword of Gryffindor. Handing it to Potter seemed to finalize everything. Isaiah had died, Mungo had died, Galahad also. He had been reunited with his only family and everyone was safe again. He had never known peace in his life. Handing the sword over to its rightful owner, Draco felt that it wouldn't be long until all of this was at an end and they would all finally be at peace. 

                "Isaiah's last words were of you," Draco said to Harry. "He made me promise to return this to you and, not knowing if I would ever make it back here, I lied and promised anyway."

                "We're all glad you did make it back, Draco," Harry said, offering a hand which Draco took. Ron followed Harry's lead and offered his hand as well. 

                Harry knew that Ron was sincere in this action. He would make any truce or alliance that would make Ginny happy. And there hadn't been much animosity wasted between the two rivals since nearly their fifth year at school. Things had gotten too bleak since then to warrant such frivolousness as school boy rivaling. 

                Ginny now found Draco sitting on the stairs, a flight down from the landing on which her room sat. He was watching her parents in the kitchen as they washed and dried dishes. They were swaying in time to the music playing from a radio in a nearby room. Every once and again one or the other of the pair would look up and smile, gazing into the other's eyes, or pecking their cheek. 

                He was startled from his thoughts as she sat beside him. 

                "What were you thinking about?" she asked, looking on the scene that Draco had been watching. 

                "I was thinking that some people do really love each other all of their lives," he nodded to Molly and Arthur who were blissfully oblivious to everything but each other. 

                Ginny smiled. "_Tante__ que je vis je t'aimerai. Did you mean that?"_

                Draco nodded. "As long as I live, I will love you. I meant it both times I said it."

                "So I wasn't dreaming?" she asked. 

                "No," he said. "Even when I was separated by more than miles, by time as well, it never faded, always endured—my love for you."

                "I love you too, Draco, though I may not express it as eloquently as you do," Ginny smiled and kissed his cheek. 

                He put an arm around her and they watched on in silence. 

***

                "History is written as events that have already happened," Dr. Beckett explained from the witness stand. "If the four of them were already written into the past, as I have shown you, how could they have influenced what already was? They caused the outcome of events long before any of them were born."

                Sirius nodded. He glanced at the jury. All but one of the twelve seemed to be contemplating this most confusing conundrum. Sirius studied the one lone man at the far left with a set expression as if there was no way the innocence of this child could be shown to him. His mind had been made up. Sirius suspected him to have been paid off. He only wished he knew how he could prove it. 

                "So, Dr. Beckett," Sirius said. "Miss Malfoy, in possession of this Time-Turner, legally, could not have altered events that have been set down in documented language, hundreds of years before her birth?"

                "That is correct."

                "And the outcome of the war, Dr. Beckett. What was the outcome of the war?"

                "Well, everyone knows that Eowyn Slytherin's terrifying army was defeated mysteriously. The Lords of Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw died in battle and the school was gradually restored under Helga Hufflepuff's stepdaughter, Azria."

                "And those events, which all of those who have taken Professor Binns' History of Magic should know," There was a slight chuckle at this—even the old judge had had History of Magic under the interminable ghost-teacher at Hogwarts, "have never endured the slightest bit of change?"

                Dr. Beckett shook his head. "Only now we know who the foreigners were and now we know to whom we should direct our gratitude." Dr. Beckett bowed to Lucy in front of the bar and to Draco, Harry and Ginny behind her.

                "Objection, your honor," blustered D.A. Parkinson. 

                "Nothing further, Your Honor," Sirius said with a smirk in the D.A.'s direction. 

                "Five minute recess before the closing arguments," the judge said. 

                Before anyone had gotten up to leave, an armed guard had entered and approached the bench. There was much whispering and seriously grave looks between him and the judge. 

                "Councilors, approach the bench," the judge said finally. 

                Sirius and Blair Parkinson neared and the guard repeated what he had told the judge. 

                "Lucius Malfoy has been found dead at his home in Derbyshire."

                Sirius glanced tentatively over his shoulder and saw both Lucy and Draco staring at him with twin faces of stony unconcern. 

                "I'll tell them, your honor," Sirius said. 

                "Twenty-four hour recess," he ruled loudly. The court room was adjourned. 

***

                Ron nearly turned back when he reached the door to Lucy's room. 

                It was time to make amends. 

                There was a guard at the door as usual, but it was not her regular guard. It was a woman. She smiled and let him in before he'd had the chance to leave. 

                Lucy looked up from her book and smiled. 

                Ron shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry to hear about your father," he said. 

                Lucy smirked. "No you're not."

                Ron nodded. "I'm sorry only because he was your father, and Draco's."

                "I'll try being an orphan for a while," she said, smiling sadly. 

                "Is he…did he go down to…?" Ron asked. 

                "Draco? He wouldn't let me come with him to identify the body. He went alone," Lucy answered. 

                "Good," Ron said. "I wanted to talk to you," he continued, but stopped at the look on her face. "Not good," he amended, "I mean convenient. No, I just…"

                "What did you want to say to me, Ron?" Lucy asked with a patient smile, setting her book aside. She charitably offered him a seat beside her on her bed. 

                "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry for suspecting you at all. I was just…" Ron began. 

                "Just looking out for your best friend? Ron, there's nothing wrong about that."

                Ron paced. "Yes, but I didn't give you a chance. I thought…"

                Lucy nodded. "You thought I would be just like my brother?"

                "Well…Yes, actually." Ron turned to Lucy with a penitent sort of smile. 

                "We are alike in many ways." Her smile widened into a grin. "I liked you from the moment I saw you," she said. 

                "When I yelled at you and called you names?" Ron asked, disbelieving. 

                Lucy laughed. "Yes."

                "Then I was wrong about you from the beginning. You're nothing like your brother."

                Lucy shrugged. "Does it bother you?" 

                "What?" 

                "My brother and your sister?" Lucy elaborated. 

                "It did. I know he makes her happy. I'm happy for you and Harry, too," Ron said. 

                At the mention of Harry's name, Lucy's grin widened. "I hear congratulations are in order. Hermione's a lucky girl."

                "Thanks, but I'm the lucky one," Ron said with a smile that mirrored hers. 

                He kissed her forehead and turned to leave. 

                There was something about the look in the guard's eye. Ron couldn't have been absolutely sure what made him stay. He was overcome with the feeling that he shouldn't leave Lucy alone with him. It was her normal guard, but with a malicious, hungry stare. 

                He seemed to sense Ron's reluctance and removed his wand. 

                Ron immediately moved between the guard and Lucy. She looked as startled as he had been. 

                The guard smirked evilly. 

                "Who are you?" Ron demanded. He felt a cold hand touch his elbow. It was Lucy's. 

                "Ron, leave us," she said in a trembling voice. 

                "I can't do that," Ron said, reaching for his wand. 

***

                Ginny stood beside him, quiet. They were beyond words. He knew that she was sorry for him. There was no need to say it. 

                Harry came up behind them and placed a hand on her shoulder. 

                "I guess I should get this over with," Draco said, looking at the two of them. He shoved his hands in his pockets and headed into the morgue. 

                Ginny watched him disappear behind the swinging doors. She turned to Harry and smiled. 

                "So, you'll be pulling double duty as both best man and maid of honor?"

                Harry laughed slightly. "I was hoping that you would relieve half of my duties."

                Ginny held up her hands. "That's up to Hermione."

                "I was worried that Ron would never go through with it," Harry said thoughtfully. 

                "I think a lot of it was Hermione's doing," Ginny smiled. 

                Inside the morgue, Draco shivered. It was cold in here. 

                The resident on duty smiled and directed him to a row of what looked like drawers. 

                Pulling one out, the doctor looked to him. 

                Draco scrutinized the corpse for a moment. He bent close to the dead face. Looking to the doctor, he asked, "DNA?"

                "The results should be in from the lab at—,"

                 As the doctor spoke, another entered the room and held a sheet with the information Draco was eager for. 

                The doctor frowned when he looked at it. 

                "What is it?" Draco asked urgently. "What does it say?"

                "It's your father's DNA," the doctor concurred. 

                Draco heaved a sad sigh of relief and looked once more to the body in front of him. 

                "But there's another set of DNA here as well," the doctor continued, puzzled. 

                Draco's eyes flew wide and his head shot up. A moment of silence and suspended space and time held him there, unable to move, to speak, to think. 

                The next moment he was out the door and down the hall, Ginny and Harry trailing behind, shouting a million questions after him. 

                He threw the door to his sister's room open, praying that he wasn't too late, knowing at the same moment that there was nothing else to be but late. 

                Ron lay on the floor of the sterile room. Lucy was gone. 

                Feeling for a pulse, Draco found a weak one. Ron was alive, but only just. 

                He barely heard Ginny's gasp as she entered the room moments later. Harry followed only seconds after, with the same reaction. 

                He looked to Draco who said, "Get him some help. I know where she is."

                He raced from the room with his wand at the ready. 

                Harry went into the hall and called for a doctor. 


	25. The Way The Window Faces

Disclaimer: Rowling owns all characters that I use except for Lucy, Anni, Jill, Gabriel, Minister Solomon Grey and various others. No money is being made in the writing of this story. Tom Harris owns _The Silence of the Lambs, which I drew from in inspiration of one of the scenes and the title of the chapter.  There is a scene, which I took from _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone. _That also belongs to Rowling. _

Author's Note: Thanks to those who reviewed this week and those who haven't. **Lady Brannon:** thanks for your comments. They're always helpful. **Oliverwoodsgirl:** Isn't NYC the greatest? I'm glad you enjoyed your trip and even more so to have you back. To answer your question about Lucius: it was the guard who was in the morgue and Lucius had taken the guard's post at Lucy's cell. 

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Way the Window Faces

_"Someday we'll all be gone_

_But lullabies go on and on_

_They never die_

_That's how you and I will be…"_

_Billy Joel's 'Lullaby'_

                Ginny looked to Harry with frantic eyes. Kneeling in front of Ron she said, "I'll take care of him. Don't let Draco go alone."

                Harry nodded and moved from the room into the hall. Already a nurse was coming to see what all of the noise was about. Draco was nowhere to be found. 

                He called for the doctor who came running and soon overtook the nurse. Stepping back into the room he shook his head as Ginny stared up at him. "He's gone. Do you know where he might have gone?"

                Ginny thought for a moment then shook her head sadly. Looking down at her brother, one small tear fell from her cheek to his. 

                The doctor called for a gurney as he and the nurse crowed her brother and pushed her aside. She felt Harry's shaking hands help her to her feet and pull her to the periphery of the scene. They had both seen the mark on Ron's shoulder. It was a glancing wound, but the scar would be unmistakable…if it ever healed…if it ever came to that. 

                Ron was moved to another room and Harry walked with Ginny to the waiting area for her family to come. 

                "I thought this was all over, Harry," Ginny said, looking at the ground with her head in her hands, elbows on her knees, rocking methodically in her chair. 

                Harry rubbed her back to calm her. He took a deep breath and said, "He's going to be fine, Ginny." He wasn't sure if he believed this himself. But it was better than giving up right away. He would never give Ron up, his Weezey as Dobby had called him. He tried to imagine life without his best friend. The thought scared him and he hoped more fervently that Ron would wake up. 

***

                Lucy had known who he was the moment he entered the room. Those eyes had haunted her in dream and nightmare her whole life. 

                Ron seemed to sense it too. 

                She had tried to get him to leave her. He wouldn't. 

                Frantically, she begged her father to let him go. It was only her, after all, that he wanted. 

                His smile widened and he shook his head. "I've wanted to kill at least one Weasley spawn, and so far I have failed. Do you think, Lucilla, that I would give him up now just because you asked me to?"

                 "Then let her go instead and take me," Ron said, holding his ground resolutely. Lucy's trembling hand at his elbow tightened. 

                "Ron, don't" she'd said. 

                She remembered no more. 

                Coming awake on the floor of a large stone room, Lucy blinked. She did know this place. There were many hours spent here trying hard to become the child that he wanted her to be. 

                She taught herself how to fence here, how to fight. This room was in her house. 

                She looked up and rubbed at her neck. She must have been hit with something hard across the back of the head. 

                Her father emerged ghost-like from the shadows of a corner. He smiled wickedly and said, "Welcome home, Lucilla."

                "Lucilla," she said ponderously. "Why would you name me after you if you despise me so much?" 

                Lucius moved toward her. "Because you are mine. Would you have preferred that I brand you instead?" 

                Lucy was silent, glaring. 

                "I haven't always disliked you, child," her father continued. "There was actually a glimmer of an instant when I was actually proud of you. But you, being who and what you are, shot that to hell and now I have to end what I have started."

                "I would have been what you wanted me to be, father," Lucy said. It was a painful realization, one that brought tears to her eyes. What she would have done for love and acceptance, like that her father lavished on Draco. She would have sold her soul. 

                "Would you have?" Lucius asked, intrigued. "You would have always been your mother's child: simple, elegant, kind, and always interfering with things that don't need your interfering."

                "Is that why you killed her?" Lucy asked, looking up at the dominating presence of her father as he towered over her. 

                He bent and swiftly exacted a blow across her face, causing her lip to bleed. "Do not speak of things that you do not understand, child."

                "That's it, isn't it?" she persisted. "I know that you never loved my mother.  She was an object to you, one that you could corrupt and control, and though you could control her, you could never make her sympathetic to your will, your plans, your beliefs. You ruined her life, made her miserable, kept her as a prisoner." Lucy smiled, almost chuckled. It was daring, no one laughed at Lucius Malfoy. "But she got the best of you in the end, didn't she, father?"

                "You say too much. I should have killed you right from the off and ended your impertinence before it began," he said, leveling a sword at her throat and glaring with rage. 

                "So, that's why you can't kill me," Lucy surmised, her bloody lips stretching into a grin. "Are you afraid that the memory of me will haunt you as relentlessly as mother's has?" She threw her head back with a cruel peel of laughter. 

                Lucius advanced on her, bringing the sword into her throat. Blood trickled down her neck and into her pristine collar. She merely smiled. She didn't even seem to register pain. 

                She could tell she was frightening him. It gave her more courage. "Hit me, kick me, beat me," she said, making a sweeping gesture toward her immobile legs, "paralyze me, but you are too cowardly to go through with it. All this time I thought that you had sent Elena to kill me because my blood wasn't good enough to soil your hands." She laughed again as her father reddened with anger. "But it's because you can't do it, can you?" She leaned forward, pressing her neck against the sword. She was pleased to feel the tension of the blade backing off as she advanced on it. Her father was giving way. 

                He kneeled beside her, removing the sword from the lacerated skin of his daughter's neck. He dropped it to the floor beside him. 

                "We had an argument that night. She wanted to leave me and I wouldn't let her. I didn't push her. She slipped. I reached out for her, but she fell. I was too late to stop it. I would never have killed her. I loved her," Lucius said in a strangled voice. 

                Lucy placed a gentle hand over her father's that rested on the sword he was to use to kill her. "You loved controlling her. That's not love, father."

                He leveled cold eyes on her. "It's more than you'll ever receive from me."

                Lucy heaved a sigh and shook her head. "I've given up loving you a long time ago. But we're family and you don't have to love me." She reached up and unbuttoned the two top buttons of her blouse, pulling her bloodstained collar back, exposing her neck and collarbone. "What are you waiting for? Isn't this what you wanted? To be rid of me? Only Draco is beyond your reach now. You have no more sway over him. You've lost him. So go on…end it, father…all of it…right now…with me."

                His hand trembled on the hilt of his weapon. He brought it to her neck and placed both hands around it, ready to thrust it through her chest. 

                She stared at him unblinkingly, blank in expression. He tried not to look into those eyes, so much like her mother's but so much more defiant. There was something in them that mocked him, made him angry, something that held that anger over him in a cruel taunt. All of her life he had convinced himself of her being too different from him to give a damn about. But the truth was that she was so much like him that he was threatened by her and despised her for it. 

                Now she knew it and she threw it back at him, much like he would have done if the tables had been turned. 

***

                Not knowing how he knew, he stood in the entrance hall of his home, knowing that they were here. He didn't move directly, hurry to look for her, find what room out of the many that he had taken her to. 

                He stood for a moment and stared forward into the open doors of the music room. 

                The drapes of the deepest green fell to the floor and framed a perfectly silver moon. His mother had sat on that very chair many times, patiently teaching Lucy to play her instrument well. He knew that Lucy had hated it, the natural ease and grace that he had. Everything had always come easily to him. He was aware that she resented it, but, like the saint that she always was, she never let her envy ever get the best of her. 

                He took a breath. He didn't want to ref another match of wits between his father and Lucy. These sorts of conflicts were anything but rare. When his mother was alive, she usually put herself in the middle of them. With her gone, he was the only one to keep his father from hurting Lucy. She was always the instigator, but neither of them ever wanted to relinquish the upper hand. In the end it would come down to one life or another. Two people so completely alike could not exist in the same world. 

                For a sudden and indeterminable second, Draco realized that he knew exactly where his father had taken Lucy: the fencing room. He would not kill her with magic. He was far too eager to see her blood spilled. 

                With the terror of this realization, he hurried down the hall and to a flight of stairs that would lead him to that solitary part of the cavernous house. 

                It was all too quiet now for his comfort. He slowed his pace, not wanting his footfalls to announce his presence, though he could not think how his father would not already assume his coming. Perhaps he waited for him. 

                The door was open and the room was dimly lit, one or two candles, no more. 

                He saw Lucy there, on the floor, little more than conscious and breathing. His father was nowhere. 

                She looked up in terror as she saw him down the hall and shook her head, a considerable task for someone who had been beaten badly. There was so much blood Draco was reminded of the time that he had found her there, dead. She cradled her arm as if something was broken and as she couldn't move her head much, he guessed that it must have been her collarbone. One large gash trickled vertically down her neck and she blinked lethargically as if holding on to consciousness took very great resolve. She whispered something so low that Draco could not hear it. 

                He was immediately by her side and then he knew what it was she had said. Their father was behind him. 

                Lucius' voice echoed in the cathedral-like room as he spoke the words of a spell that shot magical bonds onto Draco's wrists and ankles. His father secured those bonds to a weapons rack. 

                "So predictable of you to show up, Draco. This should make things quite a bit easier," he said with a cunning smile. 

                "Let her go. You can have me instead," Draco said immediately, panicked, never removing his eyes from his sister's, though she had closed hers.

                Lucius shook his head slowly. "But I don't want one or the other. I want you both and that is what I have. This is not a bargain, son."

                "What do you want with us?" Draco asked, struggling against his bonds, only feeling the least amount of slack as he did this. Not enough, however, to permit an escape. 

                "A valid question, I will grant you," Lucius said, pacing between the two, relishing in the frustration he caused Draco when his view of his sister was blocked. "I will finish what I should have done the moment she was born. Though I will not be charitable enough to grant her a quick death, she does not deserve one. Then," he said with a theatrical spin on his heel to pace in the opposite direction. "When she is dead and you have watched her die, I will kill you. Because once you had value to me, but now you are worth only the information against me that my enemies would be so eager to have from you."

                "And I would give it to them," Draco said adamantly. 

                Lucius nodded his agreement and continued, "I know you would. So, regrettably, you must die also."

                Unexpectedly, he turned on Lucy, who lay prone on the floor and yelled, "Crucio!" He seemed to enjoy watching her writhe in pain. 

                Draco struggled against his bonds until his wrists began to bleed, even then, he continued. 

                Lucius circled his prey with a crooked smirk on his lips. He watched Draco out of the corner of his eyes, deriving pleasure from the pain of both of his children. 

                "Father, please!" Draco begged. 

                Lucius heard none of this and continued at his gratifying task. Finally, to Draco's horror, Lucy had stopped moving, although his father's curse had not abated in its ferocity. She had stopped responding to the stimulus of pain. She just lay there. 

                Lucius turned to Draco and smiled. 

                "She was always such a weak creature." He advanced on his son slowly. 

                "Is that why it took this long to kill her?" Draco spat sarcastically back. 

***

                Hours later, Hermione was finally allowed to see him. 

                He was pale and lay hooked up to a monitor not unlike those found in Muggle hospitals. 

                The doctors were doing a lot of useless speculating at this point. It was their job to impart hope to those who were desperate for it, those who probably didn't deserve any. She knew that it was all that she had to cling to. She had to fight hard not to place the blame for this on anyone. It was no one's fault that things happen; she told herself this nearly every second since she had been here. 

                She reached out and held his hand, so icy cold in hers. She smiled. She had accidentally worn her engagement ring. She was so startled to hear that he had been hurt that she had forgotten that she had slipped it on for a moment. She would never take it off now. 

                His eyes fluttered open for a brief second and then closed again. She squeezed his hand in hers and leaned forward, pushing his hair away from his forehead, placing a kiss there. Lying gently next to him on the small bed, she rested her head against his chest hearing the faint but reassuring beat of his heart. 

                She held his hand to her mouth and kissed it lightly. "Don't you leave me, Ron Weasley," she said in a sob, "Don't you even think about it." 

***

                "Harry," Sirius said, handing Harry some tea and taking a seat beside him. 

                Harry looked up distractedly and smiled slightly in thanks and he took the cup with both hands and used it to warm them instead if drinking it. 

                "What are you thinking about?" Sirius asked. 

                Harry swallowed and looked into his tea. "I'm wondering if Lucy and Draco are going to be okay. Wondering if things would change if—," he stopped, not daring to finish his sentence. He choked on the words and left them there, unsaid. 

                "I want all of this to end as much as you do, Harry. We could all use a rest," Sirius said. "And it will end."

                Harry shook his head. "He never deserved this. All he's ever been was faithful and good and… and braver than I ever was. He didn't do anything. It should be me in there."

                "Why do you say that?" Sirius said, an element of shock in his voice. "You don't think you deserve that? Harry, you are good and brave and faithful too. If you were none of those things, do you think Ron would waste his time being your friend?"

                "But this never had anything to do with him," Harry said adamantly. "He's never killed anyone, stolen anything…"

                "Harry," Sirius said, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Things happen to good people. That's life and you can't change that. Do you think your parents deserved to die? Do you think Lucy's mother did? Remus? No one can predict these things. Fate has her way of showing up at times when she is the most unwelcome."

                Harry looked away from Sirius. "I'll always be alone. Forever. My friends will leave me, you will leave me and I won't be able to stop it."

                "No one's going anywhere, Harry. Ron will get better," Sirius said in an effort to convince him. 

                "Will Lucy?" Harry asked, his calm voice showing the slightest hint of anxiety. "You can't sit there and tell me they'll all be fine, Sirius. Because they won't be, not around me anyway."

                "I wish I could bring her back to you myself, Harry. I wish I could heal Ron. I wish I could do a lot of things. We're all just human, Harry. We can't work miracles. Trust Draco. Trust the people that are out there looking for her. They'll find her," Sirius said, wanting for this to be true in the worst way. 

                Harry shook his head in disagreement. He looked up and saw Ginny disappear down the hall, followed by Bill. A crashing sound, like that of a chair hitting the wall accompanied them. The nurses at the reception desk stopped and looked. Bill came back around the corner and sat again. It looked to Harry like Ginny wanted to be left alone to sulk as much as he did. But he hadn't the guts to throw chairs at the well-meaning. 

                Another movement caught his distracted attention. But this sight startled him to his feet. 

                Sirius stood immediately beside him and cursed as Draco came through the double doors with Lucy in his arms. Both were covered in blood and soaked by a torrential rain. Unable to stand any longer, Draco was driven to his knees with the weight of Lucy. He dropped her and she didn't move. 

                Sirius was at his side in a moment and was speaking to him urgently. Draco responded only in the command, "Help her."

                Sirius called for a doctor and it was an agonizing minute later before one was on the scene to help Sirius get Lucy into a room. 

                Molly, who had been quietly worrying about her own child in a corner emerged with a blanket and gently folded it around Draco's shivering shoulders. She took comfort in caring for those who needed her. Forgotten, dripping and shaking, Draco looked up at her with a far off expression and said, "She's stopped breathing. I don't know if she's alive."

                "Nonsense, dear. Of course she is alive." She rubbed his shoulders to get him warm and helped him to his feet. "Is this blood from her?" she asked like a nurse, pointing at the red that stained the entire front of his shirt. "Are you hurt?" 

                He looked down at his front and then into her motherly eyes and shook his head. "I don't know. There was a lot of blood. It might be his."

                "Whose, dear?" Molly asked slowly, kindly. 

                "My father's," Draco answered faintly. "He's still there. He killed her and I…I think I killed him."

                "Where, dear? Where is he now?" Molly asked, a look in her husband's direction, calling him over. 

                "At our house in Derbyshire," Draco answered, leaning heavily on Molly. .

                Arthur nodded and went to call Moody. 

                "Come with me, dear. We'll get you warm and dry and get someone to look at those cuts," she said pointing to his wrists. "And then you can see your sister."

                "How is Ron?" Draco asked as an afterthought. 

                "Fine, love. No need to worry about anyone else but yourself right now."

***

                Sirius insisted on going with Moody and with Arthur. 

                He wanted answers and Lucius Malfoy would be the likely person to have them, though Sirius doubted how willing the man would be to cooperate. 

                Finding him was easy enough. The high ceiling, marble room, weapons of all kinds lining the walls and Lucius there, bound as he had bound his son. The frayed and bloody ropes that had held Draco still dangled from the broken weapons wrack. Sirius noted this and made notes mentally like a detective. The room was in disarray, a table had been smashed and glass strewn across the mosaic serpent on the floor, mingling with blood—there was a lot of blood. 

                Lucius glared the glare of a cornered animal, a threatening look from a creature who was no more threatening while he was bound than a kitten. 

                Moody went through the rights, reciting them in a bored monotone of a man who dealt with the vilest of beasts day in and out. Lucius Malfoy was nothing new or special. There were plenty of power-hungry and base men willing to take his place. There would never be an end to those like him as long as there were people to manipulate and control and cheat and hurt and kill. He was a constant, like the sun, or the promise that tomorrow would always come. 

                But tonight, justice would finally have a victory. There may still be villains around, but one would be disabled now, out of commission, unable to prey on the innocent. 

                Lucius knew this. Blinking as blood from a ghastly contusion streamed into his eye, he knew he had been defeated finally, and not by these clowns, but by his own son. 

                Sirius watched as Lucius Malfoy was cuffed and brought to the Detainment Center for questioning. Moody was playing the bad cop; a routine he forgot was supposed to include a good cop as well. Somehow, he always got his answers. 

                Arthur was beside Sirius, staring at the scene on the other side of a two-sided mirror. 

                "Is she dead?" Lucius asked Moody, dabbing at his forehead with a towel. There was a large cut there, made with what? Draco would be the only one with the answer to that question. 

                "Your daughter?" Moody spat back at him. 

                Lucius nodded, unconcerned. 

                "I believe that you have forfeited the right to that answer, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Malfoy?" Moody grumbled. 

                Lucius shrugged. 

                Sirius' stomach turned. Lucy was alive, but he somehow doubted that that was the answer Lucius Malfoy was hoping for. 

                "Your accomplices, the Minister, Mr. and Ms. Lestrange, have been remanded to our custody. Mr. Lestrange has cut a deal for information on you. Minister Grey is likely to do the same," Moody continued. 

                Lucius sat quietly with a superior look on his face, one eyebrow raised. 

                "Ms. Lestrange will be brought to trial for the murder of Cora Stevens, a four year old Muggle and the kidnapping of four year old Gabriel Parry. You, I am not unpleased to inform you, Mr. Malfoy, will stand charged with one thousand and twenty four counts of murder in the first degree, the attempted murder of Lucilla Malfoy, conspiracy against the wizarding government of Great Britain, fraud, illegal charms on a Time-Turner," Moody flipped through the rest of the sheets he held in his gnarled hands and looked up with a smile. "Pretty much enough shit to land you in prison for the rest of your natural life. May it be long," he added with a wide smile.

                "Its too bad for you, Mr. Moody, that the Dementors are a thing of the past. I'm sure you would have loved to witness a feasting of my soul."

                Moody threw the papers on the table and leaned closer, inches from Lucius. "There's not a soul to be found in you, you sick son of a bitch. And don't you think you can mess with me, laddie. I'm sure that I would have no trouble scaring up a Dementor especially for you."

                Lucius smiled and snapped at Moody, laughing when the wizened Auror backed away reflexively. 

                "I can't watch anymore. I'm going back to the hospital," Sirius said. 

                Arthur placed a hand on his shoulder. "Moody will get something out of him. He always does," he assured him. 

                An armed guard came through the door looking nervous. "Mr. Weasley?"

                "That's me," Arthur said with a furrowed brow. 

                "You're wanted at the hospital. You too, Mr. Black."

                Sirius looked at Arthur and Arthur looked at Sirius. 

                "Jesus," Sirius said in a whisper, crossing himself. Both raced from the interrogation hole. 

***

                Draco left Lucy when he was assured that she was asleep. In fact, the nurse nearly resorted to dragging him out, rather than him leaving of his own accord. 

                He glanced back again and saw through the window that she remained peacefully at rest, broken bones set, wounds healed. She was amazingly resilient. Draco admired her more than he would ever admit to anyone. 

                He wandered the halls slowly, hurting from the fierce struggle that he'd had with his father. Maybe he had bruised a rib, he didn't know. He hadn't sat still long enough to let the doctor check him out fully. 

                His father was in the custody of the Aurors. He was legally without parents now. But that didn't much matter. He'd been eighteen for a month and a half now. This realization reminded him of a promise that he'd made to himself the first time his father had laid a hand on his sister. He would speak to Sirius tomorrow about filing for custody of her. 

                He stopped in front of a dark room with an altar at the front. It was the hospital chapel. He entered slowly, every step was painful, but he couldn't be still for some unnamed reason. 

                He made no effort to light the room, but sat in the dark. God didn't need luminescent candlelight to hear a prayer. Draco sat in the pew at the back of the small room. The cheap crucifix was further up but Draco wouldn't look at it. It was impersonal. It wasn't the Christ he knew, the one who had looked after him, kept him safe when he was so far from home and the ones that he loved. His thoughts were in that chapel in the woods and he felt that he was there, as he had been everyday when it served as his only comfort in that medieval wasteland. 

                "Father," he said, crossing himself and bowing his head as he sat. "Thank you for watching over my sister. She still has a long road ahead of her, her trial, the trial of her father. But all the same, I am thankful that You gave her the strength to endure. I take my strength from her and so I thank You for that as well." 

He hesitated and then continued. "Please look after Ron now as You have looked after me and my sister many times before. He has never been anything but good and honest. He is loved by so many. Don't take him away from the people that love him, Lord. I have never given him the chance to be anything but an enemy to me. In the past, I had thought that he was nothing. But he is everything to his sister, whom I love, and so many things to many other people. He stood between my father and my sister and didn't give her up for anything. For that alone I owe him my life. But I owe him much more." He swallowed hard and clasped his hands tighter. 

"An apology for one thing. I never took him for anything more than I saw at face value. But what I learned from him was that people are many things, but never what they seem to be at first glance. I would have never guessed when I first laid eyes on him that he would one day give himself up for my family. But he has. 

"I don't pretend to know that his injuries aren't serious. I know that they are. He was hit with a curse that should have ended his life. To have allowed him to be with his family for even a short time longer, Lord, is a blessing that I thank You humbly for. But, Lord, if he is not strong enough to make it through, then I ask You to make the rest of us strong enough to bear the loss." He paused again and wiped a hand across his cheek. "It will be hard for me if he cannot make it. I cannot imagine the pain it would cause the fortunate people who really knew him, his family, his fiancé, his best friend. I ask for Your intervention, Lord. Be with his family and his friends and keep a place for him in Your kingdom if You should decide that he is not for this world."

                He wiped his cheek again and adjusted the bandage on his wrist. He stood and said, "Amen."

***

                _"Are you really Harry Potter?" Ron blurted out._

_                Harry nodded. _

_                "Oh—well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got—you know…"_

_                He pointed at Harry's forehead. _

_                Harry pulled back his bangs to show the lightening scar. Ron stared. _

_                "So that's where You-Know-Who—?"_

_                "Yes," Harry said, "but I can't remember it."_

_                "Nothing?" said Ron eagerly. _

_                "Well, I remember a lot of green light, but nothing else."_

_                Harry walked quietly beside Anni in the wet grass behind the entrance to the casualty ward. He reflected on the first time he had ever spoken to Ron. Did he know then that he would become best friends with him, that he would be willing to lie, cheat, steal and even die for him and the other way around as well?_

                His head lowered and he watched his feet solemnly. Green light. It was the color of his most vivid and most vague nightmares. There was green when his parents died, green in the Chamber of Secrets, green the night that Cedric was murdered. Would the color now shroud the last memories of his best friend too?

                "Stop it!" Anni said, elbowing her cousin lightly in the arm as they walked in the damp, late evening. Their breath clouded in front of them and Harry saw that Anni's nose was red with the cold. 

                "Sorry," Harry offered half-heartedly. 

                "I know," she said with a sympathetic smile. She wrapped an arm around his shoulder as they walked side-by-side, turning to go back inside. Neither of them was dressed all that warmly. 

                "I just can't help thinking that things have changed and I don't know how they could ever be the same again." Harry shoved his hands forlornly into his pockets. "Sorry you had to cut your trip short for me. How was the Bahamas?" 

                "Warm," Anni admitted grudgingly. "Of course I would come back if you needed me, Harry. I can't go to the—," Anni didn't get to finish as George appeared on the third floor balcony and called out to the both of them. They couldn't see his face in the dark of the early morning, but his tone was unmistakable. 

                Harry's heart fell. 

***

                Shortly before two in the morning Hermione, dozing next to Ron with her head on his chest, came awake. 

                There was a slight patter and then she heard his heart beat as normally as it had for the past twenty-eight hours. She couldn't have been sure, but she had thought she heard it stop once. 

                Terrified, she held her breath to get quiet enough to hear for certain. 

                She lifted her head when she heard nothing but a strange void. He took a deep, calm breath and then let it out. She waited for him to take another. She waited and waited. 

                The monitor made a soft monotone noise. 

                She sat up and took his hand. 

                "Ron?" she asked, squeezing it gently. 

                His eyes were closed and shaded a deep shadow color behind his lids. 

                "Ron?" she asked, her voice shaking now as she leaned inches from his face. 

                A tear rolled down her cheek as she raised his hand to her lips and she kissed it. Leaning over him, she placed her trembling hands on either side of his face and rested her forehead on his. "Ron, I love you. Ron?"

                She reached for his hand again and held it tight. 

                Kissing his lips she felt their cold touch against hers. Already the warmth of life was ebbing from him. She shook her head in disbelief. She was paralyzed with fear. But she wasn't alone, not yet, not as long as she held his hand. She clung to him, protectively, holding his hand to her heart. 

                She wanted to get someone, call for help. But she was a realist and she knew that he was gone. The love of her life had died. But she had been fortunate enough to be with him to the last. That was all anyone could ask for, really. 

                She sat in the same place, never taking her eyes off of him. He looked just like he always looked in sleep, serene, peaceful. He looked so much like a child as he slept. 

                Her eyes ran over his hair, his face. She had come to love that face so much. He had a goofy crooked smile that had endeared him to her forever. 

                It hurt so much to remember these things and hurt so much more to push them away that she was trapped in an excruciating limbo where she thought she would die right alongside of him. 

                She moved to lie next to him again, placing her head right next to his. She pecked his cheek and blinked back tears that fell freely to the pillow that they shared. 

                It was around five in the morning when light broke into the room. 

                Involuntary tears seemed to roll from her cheek and splash the floor where she stood by the window. They had taken him away about an hour ago. 

                She tried leaving the room but could not bear to. A part of him felt like it was still here. A part of her was still here too. They were here together as long as she didn't go. She couldn't. Not just yet, anyway. 

                Her hands, now empty and tingling from the cold touch of Ron's that she had held for hours and hours hung motionless at her sides. She stood at the window looking into the glaring and harsh morning sun. It was empty and lifeless in her eyes. She would never see another dawn that held any life for her. But she wasn't looking for the dawn at all; that was just the way that the window faced. 


	26. This Is How It All Ends

Disclaimer: Rowling owns the canon characters. I own the non-canon. The French passage on the coat of arms is from Michael Crichton's _Timeline. The scenes that I used as remembrances are from _Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. __

Author's Note: I hope that you have all enjoyed reading this story as much as I have enjoyed writing it for you. I invite you all to read my other works: _The Unsung Past,_ my companion piece to this story that chronicles the lives of the Founders, their children and their Chosen Ones. Also on ff.net now, my story of Sirius is up and underway. I am finishing up his involvement in Bloody Sunday in Derry, 1972 and will continue with his later life. This is also a companion piece to the series that I finish today and follows closely the character of Sirius that appeared in this trilogy. Later in the year I will be working on a story that was also inspired by my series but will focus on the historical forces and characters around the Second World War era. Please be on the look out for these stories and more, as I would lament losing your readership after this series. 

Chapter Twenty-Six

This Is How It All Ends

"Run to your dreamin' 

_When you're alone_

_Unplug the TV _

_And turn off your phone_

_Get heavy on with _

_Diggin' your ditch_

_'Cause I'm diggin' a ditch _

_Where madness gives a bit_

_Diggin' a ditch_

_Where silence lives_

_Diggin' a ditch _

_For when I'm old_

_Diggin' this ditch my stories told…"_

_Dave Matthews Band: 'Diggin' A Ditch'_

                He stood and walked out, knowing not if he was heard. As soon as he hit the door, a voice came from the room that he just left. 

                "Beautiful words. Did you mean them?" 

                He moved back into the darkness of the chapel and looked around. 

                Ginny sat on the floor at the back, near the confessionals. 

                "What are you doing here?" he asked, kneeling next to her. 

                She smiled. "Same as you." She stopped and hit her forehead. "No wait, you were here to pray. I just came to rough up the chaplain, sorry."

                Draco smiled and shook his head. 

                "I'm going to hell," Ginny admitted silently. 

                "No. You'd have to do far worse for God to forsake you, Ginny," he said, placing a gentle hand on her head. 

                "Listen to you all of a sudden, preacher boy," Ginny said, tearing a piece of paper into tiny pieces and then scattering it to the floor. 

                Smiling, Draco sat next to her and gathered her up in his arms. "I don't think I could have survived in 1352 without believing in something. He's real, you know. He hears you."

                "Me?" Ginny asked incredulously. "I just as much as sent Ron to his death. Tell God not to bother with me next time you two speak."

                "Why do you say that?" Draco asked, alarmed. 

                "Azria. She tried to tell me that something was going to happen. What the hell is the use of this goddamned gift if the knowledge that I gain from it is always too little too late?"

                "It must be hard for you to carry, this gift. You know, you can trust me with it if you want. I could help you carry it," Draco said. 

                Ginny began to cry. "He's not going to make it. I saw. He won't live through this."

                Draco nodded silently. There was no need of a gift like hers to know that this would only end in one way. Only one person had ever lived when hit with that curse. It wasn't likely that Ron would be so lucky. 

                He had convinced her sometime later to come back to the rest of them. He couldn't sit in the dark any longer and he didn't want her to be alone. He wondered how good of an idea that was when they came around the corner and saw that everyone was there. Mr. Weasley and Sirius had come back. Harry and his cousin were back from wherever they had gone. All were motionless with grief. 

                Harry looked up at them as the two made their way toward the others. 

                Ginny's hand on his arm trembled and shook and she dug her fingers into him. She slowly crumbled to the ground, pulling him down after her. The others, save Harry took no notice. They were lost in their own mourning. But Harry too was stayed by the loss of his friend unable to move or to help them. He just stared at the two with piteous eyes, a tear running silently from them. 

                Ginny screamed, a sound that terrified Draco. He had been enraged, inconsolable when he thought he had lost his sister. He did not try to console Ginny now. He put an arm around her and kissed her head and let her cry. Her scene distracted no one else but Harry. 

***

                _"Dobby knows, sir! Harry Potter has to go into the lake and find his Wheezy—," _

_                "Find my what?"_

_                "—and take his Wheezy back from the merpeople!" _

_                "What's a Wheezy?"_

_                "Your Wheezy, sir, your Wheezy—Wheezy who is giving Dobby his sweater!"_

_                Dobby plucked at the shrunken maroon sweater he was now wearing over his shorts. _

_                "What?" Harry gasped. "They've got…they've got Ron?"_

_                The thing Harry Potter will miss the most, sir!" squeaked Dobby. "But past an hour—"_

_                "—the prospect's black," Harry recited, horror-struck, at the elf. "Too late, it's gone, it won't come back.' Dobby, what've I got to do?"_

_                The crowd in the stands was making a great deal of noise; shouting and screaming, they all seemed to be on their feet; Harry had the impression that they thought that Ron and the little girl might be dead, but they were wrong…both of them had opened their eyes; the girl looked scared and confused, but Ron merely expelled a great spout of water, blinked in the bright light, turned to Harry, and said, "Wet, this, isn't it?" Then he spotted Fleur's sister. "What did you bring her for?"_

_                "Fleur didn't turn up, I couldn't leave her," Harry panted. _

_                "Harry, you prat," said Ron, "you didn't take that song thing seriously, did you? Dumbledore wouldn't have let any of us drown!" _

_                "The song said—"_

_                "It was only to make sure that you got back inside of the time limit!" said Ron. "I hope you didn't waste time down there acting the hero!"_

_                Harry swallowed hard. He felt a prickling, burning feeling behind his eyelids. He looked up to the ceiling and felt dizzy. He crashed to his knees, feeling a dull pain as he hit the floor. Hands hanging motionless at his sides, he looked at the floor and let the tears overwhelm him in an uncontrollable shudder. _

                He felt Sirius' hand on his head. Sirius stroked his hair, and almost to himself, prayer-like, or meant for divine ears, he whispered, "The streets of heaven are crowded with too many angels tonight."

                He let Harry go gently and left the hospital. 

***

                "Open this door!" Sirius said, glaring at Lucius Malfoy from behind cool iron bars, angry black eyes met by calculatingly cold mercury ones. 

                "Sir, we have to put him into restraints first," the guard was saying. "It's protocol."

                "Fuck protocol! Open this door!" he yelled. 

                Lucius looked at him, only the vaguest of condescending looks upon his severe aristocratic features. 

                The guard was silent, placing key after key into each lock, a series of clicking noises announcing ancient metal giving way. The door swung open and the guard immediately reached for his wand. 

                Sirius rushed at the man, fair hair and cool unconcern painted on his icy features. The look of him enraged Sirius. 

                "By the way you're acting out, I'd say that one of the wretched little brats has died. Pity, I don't think it was my own. Was it the Weasley?" Lucius asked, folding his hands over his chest.

                "Another to add to the list of transgressions that mark you for a special place in hell, Lucius," Sirius spat. 

                "Save your Christian doctrine for someone who gives a damn, choir boy," Lucius said, leaning back on his bunk. He waved a hand to a bench, the only other piece of furniture in his cell. "Please, stay a while."

                "Why?" Sirius asked, pacing angrily in front of the offensive man. "Why did you have to take everything from them?"

                "I don't know to whom you refer specifically, but I can only venture the answer that I took because I can," Lucius spoke simply but eloquently. 

                "It was Ginny first. Christ," he said, crossing himself, a habit he had picked up from Remus. "She was just a child when you set your master on her like a ravenous wolf. Harry, Ron, your own children. Who is it that you won't destroy for the mere pleasure of it, Lucius?" 

                "Myself."

                "But, it started earlier than that, didn't it, Lucius?" Sirius fumed. "You have to take everything good and pure and beautiful and beat the shit out of it."

                "Ah," Lucius said, smiling. "You're upset because I got the girl."

                "No, Lucius," Sirius said, wheeling on the arrogant man. "I'm upset that you've ruined the lives of the people I love. In one way or another it all comes back to you. You took Dale and you broke her, her children were your personal torture victims. You tired to take Lucy from Harry yet again and you took his best friend, God help you, you took him from his family!"

                Lucius sat up. "Harry Potter, in love with my daughter? Oh, that's perfectly nauseating!" 

                "What did they ever do to you?" Sirius raged. 

                Lucius sighed. "What do you want me to tell you, Black? Do you want me to fabricate a story of how I was never loved enough as a child and now I act out against the innocent in a desperate plea for help? How about I tell you the truth?"

                "And what is that?" Sirius snapped. 

                "In one way or another," he began evenly, "all of the people whom you claim that I have wronged have affronted my appreciation for all things base and evil and wicked. I am not sorry to have killed that Weasley boy. No doubt they have plenty more. He won't be missed, I dare say. And I never wanted to kill Ginny Weasley. I wanted to use her. Don't come in here and lay your pity party on me without first getting your facts straight."

                "What did you want with her?" Sirius asked with an impending sense of doom. 

                Lucius smiled evilly. "It would be ungentlemanly and unwise for me to elaborate on that point. Besides, I don't even have my lawyer present."

                "You sick son of a—," Sirius began. 

                Lucius laughed. "I will tell you one thing, Mr. Black. I always finish what I started. In idiot's terms, that means that I will kill my daughter, and I will make my son wish that he knew a thing or two about loyalty. And I always get what I want, which means that as long as I am alive neither of them, nor Ginny Weasley will ever be safe."          

                "It will be pretty difficult to get what you want from behind iron bars, Lucius. In idiot's terms, that means that you will never see the outside world again. You will stay here and rot until one day, long from now, no one will remember your name. You children will have forgotten you and their children will never have known you in the first place."

                Lucius stood. "You hate me, don't you?"

                "My hate will end the moment that I leave this cell and this prison and I, like everyone else, will think of you no more." Sirius left the cell. And left Lucius there with his one greatest fears: being forgotten and less than important. 

***

                There was more black in the room than Sirius had expected. He walked to the bar and saw Lucy sitting there, blank expression, color drained from her face. She was still wearing a bandage on her broken hand. She would never again be able to play her cello. 

                Looking so much like she had given up, like she didn't care which way the verdict would be delivered today, she turned dull blue eyes on him and tried to smile. Failing to appear cheerful, Lucy tuned her attention back to the bandaged hand that would occupy her for the rest of the closing arguments. 

                Blair Parkinson had made a show of giving his condolences to the Weasley family. Arthur didn't give him the satisfaction of appearing angry but thanked him for his thoughts. 

                The D.A. winked at Draco, sitting next to Ginny, and gave the slightest smile. Draco stared at him uneasily and watched his every move as he presented his arguments to the jury. 

                "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury," he began theatrically. "I will not recount what we have already heard here. The case is simple and your decision even simpler than that. This girl," Parkinson said, pointing accusingly at Lucy. She wouldn't look up though she was sure to be listening to every word. "Though she tries to fool you with her theatrical play acting, is deviant, vicious, cunning, very much her father's daughter. As a team, they have used tactics of cruelty to dominate not only our own government and way of life, but that of a civilization hundreds of years old—the foundation of the world in which we live today. You are smart people. Do not allow yourself to be drawn into the trap this clever little girl has set for you. She may appear harmless, but like so many things in life, appearances are deceiving. She is guilty. Do what is right and just and let her face her punishment." 

The D.A. finished ineloquently and sat. Lucy wondered how he had risen to such a level of professional achievement. It certainly had noting to do with his oratory skills. 

                Sirius stood and threw his notes down on the table in front of Lucy. 

                Approaching the jury he nodded and said, "D.A. Parkinson is right. You all possess the intelligence to know well enough when a trap is set for you. Parkinson would love nothing more than for you to believe that it was Lucy who set it. She has fallen in, as will you. Bated by playing on her extreme respect for the truth and what is right, her father offered her up as a sacrifice to his own liberty." He spread his arms out wide. "Someone had to take the fall. How ironic that it fell to the shoulders of this young lady. Why would she have gone into a medieval war, risking injury, imprisonment, death?" Sirius shook his head. Leaning on the railing that separated the jury from the rest, he took a breath and continued. "Her father knew that she would come, he played on her willingness to put others before herself. Another child would have fallen victim to her father's demented whims had she not been the brave and honest person that she is, the sort of person," he turned to look at the D.A. "that Councilor Parkinson thinks should be punished for being so. I ask you not to look at this child and pretend to see anything more than what she has always proven that she is: a person in possession of so much good that she could not sit by and watch as her father worked to destroy our founding civilization. She has gotten to know these people. The Lords and Ladies of Hogwarts' founding days had grown to be her friends, friends that she could not turn her back on when they were in need, though it may very well cost her. It may cost her freedom. If you do as the D.A. assures you all that it is your solemn duty to do—finding her guilty—then her sacrifice will have had such a price." 

                He looked to Lucy who had finally lifted her head, so shocked she was to hear his words, more shocked that they had not come from a piece of paper but from the soul of someone who believed in her. There were tears on her cheeks and her eyes were wide, unbelieving. 

                "And you will have wronged a child who has done so much good for all of us. She has, along with the friends that sit behind her—saved us all from yet another dark reign that would have undoubtedly crushed us. To punish her would not only be a crime committed against her, but against yourselves. Don't fall into a trap that clever men have set to snare you. Decide for yourselves if she is guilty, but decide with your hearts, not with your minds. The mind is clouded and only the heart is ever-seeing."

                He pushed away from the railing where the jury sat with a quiet, "Thank you."

                The judge nodded and sent the jury into deliberation. 

                "I guess now would be as good a time as any," Sirius said, pointing to the papers he had tossed in front of Lucy. She leaned forward and read them quickly. Her eyes flew wide and then she turned and looked to Draco in astonishment. 

                "But I could go to prison for a long time, Draco. And father would never consent anyway," Lucy reasoned. 

                Draco leaned over the bar and said, "If you want me to adopt you, then sign and I will worry about father."

                For the first time in more than a week Lucy couldn't fight the smile that spread across her face. She nodded eagerly and took a pen that Sirius held out to her. 

                "Then, I guess all that's left is to have Lucius sign," Sirius said exhaling wearily. 

                Draco held out his hands for the papers. "Let me do it. I have to see him sometime. I might as well be the one."

                Sirius wanted to disagree, wanted to pull rank, but knew that Draco needed to do this. Every son has to face his father after the realization that he is not a hero fades. In a way, Draco was a lot luckier than Sirius had been. He could face his father still. Sirius had only a grave to talk to in place of his. 

                The verdict was read soon after. It was a not guilty one. Sirius thanked God for it. One more tragic piece of news was sure to bury them all. Tomorrow they would all have to say goodbye to Ron. That was about all that anyone could take, Harry most of all. 

***

                Long after the house had quieted, Ginny stood alone at the room at the top of the stairs. It seemed more than empty now that Ron was gone. It seemed haunted. There were things that she should have said. Did he know that she had loved him most of all? She hoped he did. 

                She fiddled with the Time-Turner around her neck and took her wand down stairs with her. In bear feet and pajamas she stood in front of Draco as he slept on the sofa. 

                He started awake when he sensed eyes on him. "Ginny, you scared me," he said in a whisper. "Is something wrong?" he asked urgently, seeing her wand in her hand and sitting up. 

                She shook her head and kneeled. Leaning into him, resting her head tiredly on his shoulder, she said, "I didn't want to be alone."

                "You can stay with me," Draco said, wrapping his blankets around her and leaning his head on top of hers. "Stay with me forever."

                Ginny curled up on the couch next to him and sunk down deep into the blanket. "There are four hours left until we bury him," she said as one single tear traveled down her cheek, finally coming to rest on Draco's shirtsleeve. 

                "I know," Draco said. "I'm so sorry this happened, Ginny."

                "So am I," Ginny said, heaving a giant sigh. "But I am glad that Lucy got off. She didn't deserve that."

                "It feels more like relief, I think. This finally feels like it could be the end to all of this," Draco said, holding Ginny close to him. 

                "I would have liked a better ending," Ginny said. "Poor Hermione."

                "Everyone lost something, not just Hermione," said Draco. 

                Ginny lifted her head and looked into his eyes adamantly. "Tell me that you'll never go away."

                Draco looked at her and pressed his lips lightly to her temple. "I would be lying to you if I told you that. I could never promise it."

                "I don't think Ron ever guessed that he would leave her."

                "I know he didn't. I don't think Hermione would blame him though if he had promised her. None of us knew that he—," Draco stopped, rubbed Ginny's arm. 

                "If you left me, I wouldn't ever love again. I think that's how she feels," Ginny said, choking on her words. 

                "Maybe," Draco conceded. "I would want to see you happy, regardless."

***

                Harry tried to think of the worst day he had ever experienced. This one was fast climbing the charts and erased all other minimally horrible remembrances from his mind. That, and he couldn't remember ever seeing so much black in his life. 

                Every face that he saw was colorless and drawn. 

                It was rainy and the drops of water looked as though they were falling to the ground with grief as well. The umbrellas kept the rain off very little, as the early spring wind drove it sideways at times. 

                _"Harry, you were brilliant!" Hermione said squeakily. There were fingernail marks on her face where she had been clutching it in fear. "You were amazing! You really were!"_

_                But Harry was looking at Ron, who was very white and staring at Harry as though he were a ghost. _

_                "Harry," he said, very seriously, "whoever put your name into that goblet—I—I reckon they're trying to do you in!"_

_                It was as though the last few weeks had never happened—as though Harry were meeting Ron for the first time, right after he'd been made champion. _

_                "Caught on, have you?" said Harry coldly. "Took you long enough."_

_                Hermione stood nervously between them, looking from one to the other. Ron opened his mouth uncertainly. Harry knew Ron was about to apologize and suddenly he found he didn't need to hear it. _

_                "It's okay," he said, before Ron could get the words out. "Forget it."_

_                "No," said Ron, "I shouldn't've—"_

                 _"Forget it," Harry said. _

_                Ron grinned nervously at him, and Harry grinned back. _

_                Hermione burst into tears. _

_                "There's nothing to cry about!" Harry told her, bewildered. _

_                "You two are so stupid!" she shouted, stamping her foot on the ground, tears splashing down her front. Then, before either one of them could stop her, she had given them both a hug and dashed away, now positively howling. _

_                "Barking mad," said Ron, shaking his head. "Harry, c'mon, they'll be putting up your scores…"_

_                Harry held up a hand to hide a snigger. Was he allowed a snigger at a funeral, he wondered?_

                Hermione, standing next to him, a trembling hand holding her umbrella, turned and frowned. Her face was red. She hadn't cried today. She was trying to be brave. "What are you laughing at?" she whispered, trying not to move her lips. They had talked between note-taking in Transfiguration this way. It was silly to do so now, but still it made them both smile. 

                "I think his term was, 'barking mad'," Harry said behind his hand. 

                "Term for what?" Hermione asked. 

                "For you. He called you barking mad when you broke down like a nervous wreck in fourth year," Harry elaborated. 

                Hermione gave him an incredulous stare. "You two had been fighting. I was under a lot of stress as a go between. You two drove me to it if I am barking mad."

                Harry smiled. He placed an arm around Hermione. "Things won't ever be normal again."

                Hermione was silent, but nodded in agreement. When Harry looked in her direction again she had begun to shake and then the tears started. "Why can't I cry?" she said, anticipating Harry's words. 

                "I wasn't going to say that," Harry whispered. 

                "What, then?" asked Hermione. 

                "I was going to say that I think he was more upset by his fight with you in third year than by ignoring me in the fourth," Harry said. 

                "No, he was always closer to you," Hermione said between sobs. 

                Harry held her hand up between them and showed her the ring there. "He never wanted to marry me, Hermione," he said with a smile. 

                Hermione snorted in laughter and put her hand over her mouth. "Are you jealous, Harry?"

                Harry smiled and turned his attention to the eulogy, given by some stony-faced priest that they didn't know. 

                It was soon over and Harry stood beside Hermione as one-by-one people left the cemetery. 

                "I can't leave him, Harry. Not now," Hermione said finally in a trembling voice. 

                "Then I'll stay with you until you can," Harry said squeezing her hand. 

                Hermione let go some moments later and moved toward the coffin where Ron lay. It was now closed and lowered into the ground, but had not been covered over. Harry watched as she removed her wand and snapped it in half with one swift and decided motion. Harry knew what she was doing and his heart sank for the second time in so many days. She would leave him too. 

                He waited for her to return but said nothing. 

                When they turned to leave, a wailing from behind them stopped them both. They turned and saw that Arthur was on his knees at the foot of Ron's grave. A little ways off Sirius and Corbin stood with Molly, their children and Anni behind them watching with pity. Lucy and Draco stood farther off under a stand of pine trees, Draco holding an umbrella for his sister, fang at her side. 

                "A father should never have to bury his son," Arthur wept. 

                Sirius walked slowly toward him and picked him up off of his knees, saying something to the grieving father that Harry could not hear. 

                "C'mon, Harry," Hermione said, pulling him away from the scene. She let down her umbrella though the rain had not let up. "Let him be."

                They walked along in silence. 

                Hermione turned to Harry after a while and smiled sadly. 

                "See, just like he said, 'barking mad.' You're going to catch cold." Harry held his umbrella over her, but she pushed his hand away stubbornly. 

                "I won't catch cold. Even the heavens cry for him. It's beautiful." She pulled Harry's umbrella out of his hand and threw it on the ground. Harry blinked as rain dotted his glasses. 

                He looked at his friend and she seemed more optimistic than she had in days. "Thank you for being such a good friend to me, Harry, and to Ron."

                "I should thank you two," Harry said. 

                "For what?"

                "If it weren't for you, I would be living my life the way I had always been: alone."

                She smiled and kissed his forehead. "I guess we needed each other more than we thought."

***

                Stumbling up the path, Ginny shaded her eyes from the afternoon sun.  The castle that stood on that loch was a disaster. She had been so drugged when Ron had pulled her out of there, she guessed she just didn't remember it the way the others had. 

                But that wasn't what she was here for. She was looking for the family's tombs. 

                Over a hill, quite a way from the castle proper, she found them. It was a building of gray marble, open on all sides with a roof of slate. 

                Inside were three sarcophaguses only. 

                Ginny had expected more. 

                The first stone coffin had a woman on it, carved in very high relief. She had a long braid and a wise face. She was young because, after all, Slytherin had killed her when she was only about forty. 

                Maren was laid to rest on the other side of her brother. Ginny smiled. It must have been some sort of heresy in her time. She was depicted in full battle regalia, mimicking her brother in just about every aspect. 

                And in the middle of these two extraordinary ladies was a man that had loved them both more than anything. Galahad's features were stern and very warrior-like. He was recognizable to Ginny from his stone portrait, but she remembered him to be much gentler. But she had not run across him in battle. He may have been this man she now saw, but never in front of her. He was chivalry personified. 

                She touched his cheek. The stone was cold under her fingers. 

                With little effort, Ginny climbed up onto the coffin, near Galahad's knees, her feet dangling halfway to the floor. She placed a tentative hand over his that were folded across his chest. He was in a solemn attitude of prayer, like Mungo. 

                Ginny felt a tear roll down her cheek. 

                She swallowed hard and spoke. "I buried my brother today. I know how Maren felt when she had to say goodbye to you, how Azria felt." She smiled. "I know Maren always wanted to be seen as strong, capable, able to do for herself. But I think she might have felt a little of what I'm feeling now. I miss him. It's hard to imagine that he's gone. I think she understands that. You were her protector. She must have felt a little lost without you." She shook her head. "Maybe I'm just not as strong as Maren was."

                Shaking her hair out of her eyes and her thoughts into a more loose order, she caught sight of a man, stony glare, hollow eyes fixed on her. He was carved in marble and he looked as if he had been here some years longer than the others, seemingly waiting for them. He stood near the entrance, she realized, and she must have walked past him without noticing. Her eyes traveled from the chain mail he wore, beautifully rendered in stone, his sword, tip placed on the ground at his feet. On the base of the statue is read in a type of archaic French: _In the year of Our Lord 1305, Lord Theoderic Ravenclaw gave himself for God and country. His family will ever grateful be. Standing vigilant watch for thee. _

Looking down to Galahad where she sat, she traced the bronze seal of Ravenclaw House on his shield absently. "I bet you're wondering why I'm here.

                "The truth is really, I don't even know why. I thought you could give me some comfort," her voice broke into a sob. 

                "I kept your sword. It's very precious to me." She stroked his hand and sobbed. "Thank you."

                She looked around. The sun had set and the wind was staring to bite. 

                "And thank you for giving your life for us all. I hope that you are with your family and your friends now. I don't think death could separate you from your sister, or Mungo," she smiled and looked into the hollow eyes of the carving, "or Eomer or Isaiah." Her eyes drifted once again to the statue that gazed on her. "Is that your brother? He looks as if he always been watching over you. We're all lucky to have brothers like that, I guess."

                Running a finger around the shield and the bronze eagle, she read the French that was engraved at the edges:_ Mes compaingnons qui j'aimoie et qui j'aim…me di, chanson…Companions, whom I loved and still do love…tell them my song._

                "It's over now." She hopped down from the coffin. "I guess I just came to say goodbye."

                She placed a kiss on one of his cold gray cheeks. She stopped next to Maren and kissed her too. 

                She walked back down the road, a little more lighthearted and a little less guilty over so much death. She couldn't have prevented it. Seeing was to know the future, not to change it. She wondered if she could live with such a gift. She shrugged and pulled out her wand. One day at a time was a good plan. Tomorrow she would see an editor about her book. Right now, she was headed home. 

***

                "Sign it!" Draco said in a monotone. He handed his father the papers through the bars. "And it won't do any good to rip them up, so don't try it."

                Lucius scanned them and looked up at his child in disgust. "You want to take Lucilla from me?"

                Draco raised his eyebrows and stared at his father. "It has been my one wish since I was about fourteen."

                Lucius handed the papers back to Draco unsigned. "I will not consent to such thievery."

                "I'm stealing nothing from you which you haven't already given up freely."

                "I have given nothing up. You are mine and so is she. Until the day you both die. We are family. You will always be my children. You, both of you bear my name and my blood. And I can do with you what I choose. There will be no battle for custody. You both belong to me!"

                Draco looked into his father's ferocious eyes with even ones. "We haven't been your children. We have been your possessions. You wrote your name on us, fashioned us after you. But we were nothing to you, only something to manipulate and destroy."

                "That is your mother's nonsense talking," Lucius snapped. 

                "Another of your possessions. Tell me, father," Draco said, nearing the bars. "Did you love her at all? Or was that just another exercise in egotism?"

                "I love my family. Don't you ever doubt that, Draco. I loved you and your mother and your sister. But you have a long way to go before you earn any respect from me."

                Draco shook his head. "I don't want respect from you. And I don't want love either. If you won't consent to my taking custody of Lucy quietly, then I will drag it out in court."

                His father flinched. It was the first time he had ever seen him appear weak in any sense. "You would do that to me, Draco?"       

                "Why not?" Draco shrugged. "It would be even justice for a lifetime of torment and abuse."

                "I never harmed you. I gave you everything," Lucius said. 

                "I'm not talking about me, father!" Draco shouted. "I'm talking about Lucy!"

                "Don't do this to me." Lucius stood in front of his son with his hands out at his sides. "I will have nothing if you take her away."

                "You mean you will have nothing left to destroy. I want her to be happy. And she never will unless she can forget you," Draco said, folding the legal papers. "And she will forget you."

                "No," Lucius begged. "You cannot leave me here alone, son."

                "I will see you in court. And when I am finished taking Lucy from you, I will be finished with you altogether." He turned to leave. 

                "Draco?" Lucius applied to his son. 

                "Goodbye, father. May prison be long up to your expectations."

***

                "Is Hermione here?" Harry asked. 

                "Yes, she's upstairs, Harry," Hermione's father said, opening the door and inviting Harry in. 

                Harry sensed a bit of unease in the way that Dr. Granger had spoken to him. "May I go up?"

                "Yes, sure," Dr. Granger said distractedly. Probably because of Ron's death, Harry mused. 

                He knocked. 

                When Hermione opened the door, Harry knew that he wasn't expected. Her look was so startled. Harry saw a suitcase open on her bed. 

                "Harry," Hermione said. "What are you doing here?"

                "I came to see how you were doing," Harry answered. "Where are you going?"

                "Away," she said, defeated, shutting her suitcase and kneeling to tie her shoes. 

                "What do your mum and dad say about that?" Harry asked, startled, breathless. 

                Hermione shrugged, standing. Her lip quivered. "I don't know what they think. Harry, I have to go. Please understand."

                Harry nodded. He didn't understand. He feared this but he never expected that Hermione could go through with it. 

                "Can I at least drive you? See you off?" Harry asked, endeavoring to gain control of his shaking voice. 

                Hermione smiled and dried her eyes on her sleeve. "I'd like that, Harry."

                _"Well of course I knew you hadn't entered yourself," she said when he'd finished telling her about the scene in the chamber off the Hall. "The look on your face when Dumbledore read out your name! But the question is who did put it in? Because Moody's right, Harry…I don't think any student could have done it…they'd never be able to fool the Goblet, or get over Dumbledore's—"_

                _"Have you seen Ron?" Harry interrupted. _

_                Hermione hesitated. _

_                "Erm…yes…he was at breakfast," she said. _

_                "Does he still think I entered myself?"_

_                "Well…no, I don't think so…not really," said Hermione awkwardly. _

_                "What's that supposed to mean, 'not really'?"_

_                "Oh Harry, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said despairingly. "He's jealous!"_

_                "Jealous?" Harry said incredulously. "Jealous of what? He wants to make a prat of himself in front of the whole school, does he?"_

_                "Look," said Hermione patiently, "it's always you who gets all of the attention, you know it is. I know it's not your fault," she added seeing Harry open his mouth furiously. "I know you don't ask for it…but—well—you know, Ron's got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you're his best friend, and you're really famous—he's always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many…"_

_                They were very quiet all the way into London. _

                "Harry?" Hermione said finally. "What are you thinking about?"

                Harry took his eyes off of the road for a moment. 

                Hermione, grasping the leather of the seat nervously, looked up at him. 

                "I was thinking how much I'm going to miss you," Harry said, finding he couldn't look at her anymore without breaking down and begging her to stay. He wanted desperately to, but he wanted to be strong for her. He didn't want to be the one thing that chained her to a place where she couldn't stay. "I never even understood Ron until you explained him to me."

                "I was pretty shocked when you two had fought for the first time. With me he always fought. With you he took more care."      

                Harry shook his head, not taking his eyes from the road. "That doesn't mean you were loved less. We both love you and we always needed you. Don't ever doubt that. 

                "I don't, Harry," she said faintly, wiping her cheek and clasping her hands in her lap timidly. 

                When they stopped, Harry carried her bags for her, being as helpful as he could. 

                They waited a while longer in silence, stealing glances at the other when they thought they weren't looking and hoping that the other would be fine without them. 

                "_Final boarding call for flight twenty-seven, non-stop to Cairo…" a professional female voice called over the din of the busy travelers. _

                Hermione's deadened eyes seemed to flicker agonizingly to life for one final instant as she realized that this was it—the beginning of the end. 

                "I hope you know how much I will miss you, Harry," she said laboriously, staring piteously at him through blinding tears that hadn't diminished in intensity since they had arrived at Heathrow. 

                Harry summoned the last of his resolve, the reserves of his energy at their limits. He had used every bit to remain strong for her. "Is there anything I can do, say, to keep you from going?" He took her hands in his, facing her, searching her eyes for a last bit of hope. It wasn't there. 

                Hermione managed a smile. "Harry, do you remember what it felt like to be a Muggle? I mean, before you knew that you were a wizard? Do you remember the hopelessness that you felt, the fear that there may never be anything more for you out there?" She paused, lifting her bag to her shoulder, taking the other from Harry. "It was just the opposite for me. I never belonged to that world the way you did. I am a Muggle who happens to do magic well," she shrugged. "I never fit in." 

                She smiled as she recollected something. "My parents were the ones to convince me to give it a shot. I trembled the entire way onto the train."

                "But you seemed so eager. You studied the wizarding world like you studied for exams. You knew it all by heart. You were so prepared for it. I wanted to be like you," Harry admitted. 

                Hermione looked at her feet, a rose blush coming to her cheeks. "I wanted to be as calm and unconcerned as you. But I was terrified until I met you…and Ron. He became my link to that world, my anchor. Now I feel lost at sea." She swallowed and shook her hair out of her face. Her hands were full. 

                Harry reached up and brushed her hair from her face in one gentle movement.       

                "He was my world and I lost him," she said sadly. 

                She shifted her bags and drew Harry into her arms, hugging him with a heartbreaking finality. 

                "I don't think I could stay in that world without him. I don't belong in his world anymore than he would have ever belonged in mine," she said, speaking closely to his ear. "He didn't even know how to work a telephone."

                Harry chuckled softly and shook his head. 

                "Goodbye, Harry," Hermione said with a final squeeze. 

                "Take care of yourself, Hermione," he said painfully. It was the longest and shortest moment of his life, watching the last of his best friends walk out of his life. 

                 She turned one last glance on him and he waved with a brave smile. She needed to see that he was all right without her. And he was sure that she would be all right as well. 

                And as she disappeared beyond the flight gate, Harry was hit with the realization that she would never get over this. She would recover on the outside, but Ron would be remembered by the scars that she bore within—the scars they all bore. The memory of all they had experienced would fade. The sad truth was that what would endure interminably were the scars.               

                THE END

Most Sincere Thanks:

**Oliverwoodsgirl**: really you have been my most involved reader. I found myself, toward the end of writing this, wondering what sort of reaction Ron's death might have from you. We share basically the same opinion of Ron (which is odd, as we don't agree on many others). I see him as very much the anchor of the little group. As Rowling said in an interview, "They are stronger together than apart." I believe that wholeheartedly. I think 'Where Madness Gives A Bit' has been a building up of this point. I am not one for happy endings. I think that to do the amazing (sometimes very unbelievable) things that these characters have done—essentially saving the world—cannot be achieved nor appreciated without tremendous sacrifice. It is a hero's duty to sacrifice. I think my story has been a parade of heroes and sacrifices. I am more in the vein of Tolkien: a very understated parting of the ways after the group has relied on each other for so long. It's sad, but not entirely without hope, I feel. I have greatly enjoyed your readership and hope to have your opinions on my other works, as they may be my last three before breaking out into original material. With greatest appreciation, Tara. 

**Hibiscus**: a greater motivational force I could not have asked for. I owe much of my research and attention to editing to you. I thank you so much for enumerating my mistakes and inconsistencies so that I could improve. Not that you were ever in anyway uncharitable or unkind in your reviews. A more sincere reader I could not have had; you said in your last review that I had written a very original and memorable scene in Ron's death, not just in fanfiction, but in general. I wish you knew what kind of confidence that inspired in someone who one day hopes to see a book she's written on the shelf of a bookseller. I shall never be a Bloomsbury Queen, but I feel that, having inspired such a reaction from one of my most scrutinizing reviewers was worthy praise indeed! Thank you so much for your readership and I hope to see some more of Hibiscus' wisdom on the review pages of my last three works. Grateful to have written for you, Tara. 

**Linda**: you're not horrible for having a life outside of reviewing. I would never think less of my readers for skipping a review. But it seems like you've had a horrible couple of weeks and I am sorry for the loss of your puppy. Unconditional love of a pet it hard to lose, I know the feeling, having lost a dear dog too. It just goes to show how horrible my timing is. I did not intend to make anyone cry. Indeed, I didn't think that I had dwelt long enough on Ron to merit such a reaction. He was my most beloved character and I am thrilled that you felt I had made him so human that you didn't refer to him as Rowling's Ron, but my Ron. The subtleness of that praise went straight to my heart, and I thank you very much for such a kind validation. Your reviews have been some of the most substantial pieces of praise and criticism on my review board and I cannot think of a more generous reviewer. Your well thought out and eloquently stated comments were among the most rewarding of my fledgling career in fanfiction. If one day you see a book on the shelf of a bookseller's shop (in the vast future after years of practice) that says, "a novel by TJ Kittle", know that you have had a hand in it. With admiration for a kind reader, I remain your determined writer, Tara. 

**Krisalyn**: I am sorry that you thought Ron's death terrible. In many ways I agree with you. I strove to write this story, particularly the end scenes, with the idea that justice is often inadequate to the crime. Indeed, Lucius, for all of his unfathomable transgressions, deserved nothing more than a slow, painful, humiliating end. A theme in this story has been heroic sacrifice. No one, I think, embodies heroic sacrifice more than Ron. I was always drawn to him in Rowling's books. If it seems that my representation of him is inadequate, we can just chalk that up to a self-conscious, second-rate author, not wanting to debilitate a beloved and cherished character. I hope I have not disappointed. I live for the enjoyment of my writing. It would be a failing, I think, to leave even one of my reviewers feeling disappointed. Your comments have always been taken to heart, and I am eagerly awaiting the final deliberation of your thoughts on my story. Thank you for your dedication to my work, Tara.

*Other readers, I have appreciated every one of the comments that you took the time to send me. I remain grateful for your constructive criticism and your praise. When, in two week's time, Book Five is in your eager hands and you see a point that I have made rightly in my trilogy, please think of me. I will be pleased to have gotten something right for once. If I have failed to call anything, you may laugh at me, as I will be laughing at myself as well. Thank you all.  


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